


Sun's Out, Guns Out

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Boys Kissing, Character Study, Cheesy Autumn Date, Frat Boy Shiro, Friendship, Halloween Costumes, Halloween frat party, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Nicknames, Outdoor Sex, POV Keith (Voltron), Prosthesis, Social Media, Strangers to Lovers, Texting, Undressing, brief mentions of past cancer, foster kid Keith, mentions of past foster care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Keith is a loner who doesn't really want to be alone. Shiro’s a frat guy who isn't actually a douche. After a chance meeting at the college gym, Keith begins to question everything he thinks he knows about himself and the things he wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank restless-red-lion and whiskyandwildflowers enough for listening to me talk about this endlessly and TDCats for the support and wonderful beta.
> 
> For anyone leery of WIP, this fic is already complete and will be updating every few days until it's done posting.

If there was one thing Keith had always been confident about, it was the things he liked.

Growing up he’d had no problem being the only kid on his street who liked the purple Otter Pops—which worked well since everyone gave him theirs—or the only one who wore all black when everyone else was wearing red and green at his elementary school Christmas pageant. Middle school had been a disaster of self-discovery for most of his peers as they tried to decide whether they were still kids or becoming grown-ups and whether their favorite Transformers lunchbox needed to be hidden in their backpack lest they get made fun of—except for Keith, who proudly carried his secondhand Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox to school every day.

In high school, while everyone else had still been struggling to figure out who they were, Keith already knew. He never had to hide who he was or work hard to fit in, because he didn’t give a flying fuck about whether people liked him. The truth was, Keith liked that he didn’t dress like anyone else, that he appreciated the books no one else seemed inclined to read, or that he was the only person in the entirety of his high school who understand the perfection of Cheetos dipped in a vanilla pudding cup. Sure, he’d gotten called names most of his life—weirdo, loner, hipster wannabe—but none of them had fazedKeith, because he knew the things he liked in life were things he’d chosen for himself. While being shuffled between foster parents who couldn’t decide if they wanted him, and being given no choice in most of the things in his life, Keith had relished the small places he could have autonomy —the clothes he wore, the food he liked, the music he listened to. Those were the things that defined Keith, not how much money he did or didn't have or the number of times he’d moved or changed schools in the last ten years.

Keith didn’t expect going to college to be any different. Granted, he assumed there would be a bigger pool of people. Or at least bigger than his stupid podunk Texas town, which he’d hoped meant he might finally make some friends whose idea of a good time wasn’t hanging out at Walmart on a Friday night or learning how to lasso a fake bull. He still expected to basically keep to himself and continue liking the same things he’d always liked.

So he was more than a bit surprised when he walked into the apartment he’d rented with several other college students he’d met online through the college Facebook page to find his new roommates sitting on the couch smiling at him and inviting him to join their game of _Pro Paladins_ —some sort of strange card-based roleplaying game—and offered him a bowl of microwave popcorn. He’d expect roommates, not friends. He’d grunted out a moderately polite _no_ and headed to his room where he’d collapsed face first onto his bed. The twelve-hour bus ride had been hell, and Keith, who was too exhausted to rummage through his suitcase for his pajamas or the bed sheets, proceeded to fall asleep atop the bare mattress with his boots still on.

He’d thought for sure his roommates’ strange desire to include him was some sort of fluke, and they were just riding high on the excitement of feeling like adults for the first time and finally being out of their parents’ houses. Since Keith had been alone as he could remember—emotionally anyway—the idea of doing so again didn’t excite him the same way he figured it did everyone else. Granted, he liked knowing no one else was going to have any say in whether his room was clean, and there weren't going to be any adults pretending they cared about him just to look good to social services when the monthly in-home check-ups came around. Mostly, Keith was secretly more than a bit stressed out about how the fuck he was supposed to pay for books, food, and rent on his meager scholarship. The stress of being financially responsible for everything on his own was worth it, though, to finally be the only one in control of his future.

As the weeks went on, his roommates still seemed to actually want to spend time with him. More confusing still was the fact that even after they had been around him, they still seemed to genuinely _like_ him. There was Hunk, a humanities major with a big smile who was always in the kitchen managing to cook something delicious out of the shitstorm of an excuse for food they had in their cupboards or fridge. Keith’s personal favorite had been some sort of Chinese salad Hunk had made the week before using a package of ten-cent ramen noodles. Then there was Lance whose major was still undecided. He spent more time in the bathroom than anyone Keith had ever met, and he never ever shut up. Sometimes he drove Keith a bit mental with his incessant chattering, but he was also pretty funny, and even though he preened like a fucking peacock, he was surprisingly insecure, which was something Keith related to quite a lot, even if he had no intention of telling Lance so.

The second week during a group dinner, it’d been Keith’s turn to talk about his childhood, and he had nearly choked on his spaghetti, his face heating. Before he could confess to not having had a real childhood or a family, Lance had taken one look at his panic-stricken face and launched into an exuberant story about the T.A. named Allura in his English literature class who he was positive was in love with him because she’d smiled at him. Keith had felt a swell of gratitude, and for the first time thought the people at the table with him might one day be people he actually _wanted_ to talk about his past with. Before he knew it he was laughing so hard there were actual tears in his eyes as Lance explained his plan to ensure Allura fell in love with him.

Last, but by no means least, was Pidge, who was the youngest but smarter by far than all of them put together. Despite being only seventeen, she was already in her second year, double majoring in astrophysics and robotics. She was honest to a fault and fiercely independent, and Keith found her surprisingly easy to be around because she seemed to hold just as much distaste for social norms as Keith.

By the time his second semester was starting, Keith had found that college was not exactly like he had expected. Being an individual seemed a lot more respected in college than it had been in high school. His professors seemed to actually like that he didn’t agree with them, so long as he could back up his thoughts with something more than just a blasé opinion—which he always could—and despite being sure he didn't want or need friends, his roommates were turning out to be pretty great ones.

All the same, there were still some things about college that were almost exactly like high school. There were still cliques depending on the department or major; there were still people who spent more time caring what they looked like than on studying; and there seemed to be an unwritten rule that those who were part of the Greek life were better than everyone else. That last bit had been the one thing Keith had not been prepared for. He’d seen frats in movies, but he’d never known anyone who was part of one. He’d been certain that their behavior and clothing styles were grossly exaggerated for cinematic comedy, which meant he had been in no way prepared for the groups of guys who walked around campus as if they were in some sort of uniform—hideous basketball shorts and backward caps and muscle tank tops in neon colors so bright Keith had only ever seen them on the Barbies one of his foster sisters used to play with. Keith couldn’t decide if he thought the actual clothes, or the fact that so many of them dressed the same, were stupider.

On principle alone Keith hated the group mentality, hated anything people gravitated to solely to be popular or liked, and fraternities seemed the worst of it. Frat boys were loud and abrasive, and for someone like Keith who’d spent his entire life making sure he took up as little space as possible—physically and emotionally—he found their confidence and bravado almost as alluring as it was irritating. This was exactly why, after a month at school, Keith had resolved to never date a frat boy—not that he thought one of them would be interested in him,even in his wildest imagination. He was pretty sure fraternities must certainly be breeding grounds for toxic masculinity. He couldn’t imagine a single gay or bisexual man in any of the groups he’d laid eyes upon, and if there were, he couldn’t imagine him being out. Mostly, he couldn’t imagine someone like that being attracted to someone like him.

So when he stumbled upon the most attractive guy he’d ever seen, in the college gym at half past eleven on a Saturday night bench pressing more than Keith weighed without a spotter, well, it didn’t occur to Keith that the guy might be a frat boy. He was wearing a thin white tank top that was low enough on the sides Keith could see the hint of dark, pert nipples and enough muscle to make a grown man cry—not that Keith was one to cry, because he wasn’t, but fuck, if that guy’s body weren’t the thing of actual dreams. If Keith had a type, that was it. Even while lying down Keith could tell how built the guy was, broad-chested with rippled arm muscles, a flat waist, and the kind of face that should be carved into marble. One of his arms was a glimmering silver prosthetic, and though Keith had never known anyone with one, he was ashamed that his first thought was surprise at seeing someone who had one could be so fucking strong. Clearly, Keith didn’t know everything. Of course, the guy also wore a pair of black basketball shorts and a purple backward snapback. There was a tuft of shocking white hair peeking out the hole in the cap, which should look ridiculous but instead did funny things to Keith’s stomach and his cock. The outfit wasn’t something Keith normally found attractive, but in that moment he was certain the guy could’ve walked around in a trash bag, and Keith would’ve got a hard-on looking at him. He was so attractive it almost annoyed Keith, and without knowing his name or ever speaking to him, Keith made up his mind that he was probably an arrogant asshole. No one could possibly be that good-looking and not have it go to his head, and the last thing Keith found attractive was cockiness.

Keith did his best to not stare, not even when the guy finished his weights and moved over to do a set of pull-ups, rolling his hips with every pull. Once again, Keith’s eyes were drawn to the prosthetic, curious how he’d got it, how long he’d had it, and more than just a bit impressed by his strength using it. Of course, Keith was only human, and no one in their right mind would be able to look away from the ripple of muscles in the guy’s biceps as he lifted himself up over and over as if it were nothing. Just as impossible to look away from were the fucking shorts that were obscenely shiny and clingy, which was a problem because Keith could very clearly see the outline of the guy’s cock hanging down one side with every sensual roll of his hips. Of fucking course the guy would be hung like a goddamn horse.

Keith nearly a bit a hole in his tongue when the guy stopped for a moment, simply hanging from the bars with his stupid shorts sitting low on his hips and his tank top riding up, so Keith was treated to the view of a huge strip of pale skin so defined he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. The sharp V in his hips was pronounced, and the trail of thick dark hair that started just below his belly button dipped under the stretchy elastic waistband and made Keith so hard he was glad he was sitting down so no one would see the raging erection he was getting from watching this guy work out. Granted, there were only four people total in the gym, so it was unlikely anyone would notice him, but still.

Keith did his best to mind his own business, stretching out his hamstrings for the fifth time in twenty minutes and trying not to pay attention to Mr. Sex-on-Legs as he dropped to the floor and began doing one-handed push-ups that made Keith exhausted just watching him. There was “in shape” and then there was _this guy_ , whose arms were clearly strong as a fucking ox, and alright maybe Keith wasn’t completely minding his own business, because he was imagining a guy that strong holding him up as he fucked him against a wall. Or letting Keith fuck him; they were both alluring fantasies.

So yeah, Keith was possibly more than a bit attracted to this guy, but it didn’t matter because Keith had no intention of talking to him first, and he knew the guy sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to him. Keith figured that it didn’t matter if the guy was probably a grade A douchebag who had questionable taste in workout clothing, because this was nothing more than a stressed-out late night fantasy.

Keith was used to going unnoticed, so the last thing he expected was for the guy to finish his reps and stride over to where Keith was. He was so busy staring at the side of his scuffed up Converse wondering why he’d thought it was a good idea to wear them to gym that it took him a moment to realize the guy was watching him.

“Hey.”

Keith swallowed audibly, waiting a full five agonizing, slow seconds before lifting his eyes to see Mr. Too-Attractive-To-Be-Real standing directly in front of him. Then to Keith’s complete and utter surprise, the guy smiled and dropped down opposite Keith on the mat and spread his legs out wide as he began to stretch. Up close Keith could still see the outline of the guy’s cock, except now he could tell the guy wasn’t even hard, he was just that big. The knowledge filled Keith with an entire repertoire of mental images of what he would look like hard, which made Keith feel moderately embarrassed even if the guy had no idea what was going on in his brain. All the while the guy kept staring, and Keith figured if this guy was staring so could he, so he let himself really look—took in the slant of his nose and the wide scar across his face that added a sort of realness to him that somehow made him even more attractive. He could see the flex of the prosthetic fingers up close, wiggling atop the guy’s sneakers in tandem with his other hand.

“It works just like my other hand,” he said, and Keith jumped.

“I wasn’t—yes, I was. Fuck, sorry.” He ducked his head feeling like an asshole, but to his surprise, the guy barked out a laugh.

“It’s okay. Most people avert their eyes as if pretending they can’t see it is somehow less awkward for me. I don’t mind when people look.” He sounded so earnest that Keith pushed down his embarrassment and lifted his eyes.

“Does it really work exactly like your other hand?” Like it can do _everything_?”

Keith realized the implications of his question almost immediately as the guy’s face broke out in an amused smile. When Keith said “everything” he’d meant things like work out at the gym, or cook—not _everything._

“I mean, between you and me, the metal’s a bit cold. But it can definitely get the job done.” Then the guy winked. _Winked._

Keith was too shocked to respond, his mouth opening and shutting a few times like a complete asshole.

“My name’s Shiro by the way. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Then the guy rose from the floor, the same easy smile still on his face. Before Keith knew what he was doing, he found his mouth saying, “Keith. My name is Keith.”

Shiro’s smile grew wider, and Keith was positive it was the nicest smile he’d ever seen. There was something almost shy in the way Shiro’s lips curled up in the corners, as if Keith’s attention to him was just as unexpected as Shiro’s attention was to Keith.

“See you around, Keith.” He said the name slowly as if savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “If I’m lucky.”

Shiro lifted his right hand in a half wave, taking a few backward steps towards the exit, still watching Keith before finally turning around.

It wasn’t until Shiro was by the door that Keith finally noticed the three bold white letters— _Greek letters_ —on Shiro’s cap.

Shiro was frat boy.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone's lovely comments on the previous chapter and following along!

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lance yelled around a mouthful of popcorn. If Keith hadn’t been so uncomfortable he would’ve laughed at the fact that he had finally done something to surprise Lance. “A frat boy.”

“Not just any frat boy, _Takashi Shirogane_ ,” Hunk added, plopping onto the edge of the couch beside Lance as he deposited a plate of brownies on the coffee table.

“Could we possibly just get back to the movie,” Keith tried, hugging the couch cushion tighter to his chest.

Lance shook his head. “Not a chance in hell, emo boy. You, Mr. ‘I don’t like anything popular or happy,’ has the hots for the most popular frat guy on campus.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know who he was?” Keith grumbled, swiping a brownie from the plate. They were still a bit warm, the edges gooey and Keith let out a heavy sigh as he took a bite. If he was going to suffer a night of embarrassment, at least Hunk had made brownies. Everything was easier to bear with a full stomach.

“Er, how could you not know?” Hunk asked, taking a brownie for himself.

“Why would I know who Shiro was? I don’t pay attention to who’s popular on campus or who’s in a fraternity.”

“Is he serious?” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “How could you not know? For fuck’s sake, what do you pay attention to? Shiro’s only the hottest guy on campus. I can say this because I’m completely secure in my masculinity.”

“You can also say it because you’re bisexual,” Hunk said.

Lance grinned, stealing the second half of the brownie that was on its way to Hunk’s mouth. “That too. But I definitely have a stronger preference for females. Or one in particular. I’m telling you, guys, Allura is definitely warming up to me. Today when she was handing back our essays she called me Chance.”

“How is that a good thing?” Keith asked. Usually he tried not to ask Lance questions that had potentially long answers, but he couldn’t help it this time, his curiosity too great.

“ _Keith._ ” Lance sighed heavily as if Keith were very, very stupid. “Because it rhymes with my name you idiot. The first two weeks of class she called me Chad, and last week she called me Dave. She’s finally getting close! I’m telling you guys I seriously think I might have a chance.”

“I’m not saying you don't have a chance with her, but you don’t have a Chance,” Hunk said, glaring daggers at Lance. “Something tells me Allura has better taste than to date a food thief.”

Lance waved his hand dismissively, grabbing the entire plate and shoving it at Hunk. “Help yourself, buddy.”

“Thanks,” Hunk said, taking another one and balancing the plate on the edge of the sofa. “So, Keith, tell us more,” he said as the lock in the front door turned.

“I’m not telling you two anything.”

“What aren’t we telling?” Pidge asked the second she stepped through the door, dropping her backpack with a heavy thud and pushing her glasses up her nose. Not for the first time Keith wondered how on earth she managed to lug around a bag that was almost bigger than she was. “Sorry I’m late, my study session ran over. You wouldn’t believe what some of those nitwits in my group seem to think is an adequate amount of outlining. Honestly!”

“Keith has a crush,” Hunk started.

“On a frat boy,” Lance finished, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You what?” Pidge yelled, running over and climbing over the back of the loveseat Keith was sitting on. She dropped down beside him and curled her feet up underneath her. “Tell me everything. This is the most interesting thing to happen since the semester started.”

Pidge held out out her left hand expectantly, not removing her eyes from Keith. Sure enough, Lance set the rest of his popcorn in her lap, and Hunk put a brownie in her hand. She smiled, taking a huge bite of the brownie and lifting both eyebrows at Keith.

“It’s nothing! I didn’t say I had a crush!” He crossed his arms over his chest wishing he hadn’t been honest when Hunk and Lance both asked him how the gym was when he’d gotten home.  
.  
“You kind of did,” Hunk said, giving Keith an encouraging smile.

“My dude,” Lance said, leaning on his elbows, “you said there was a hot guy at the gym, but you couldn’t like him because he was in a fraternity.”

“I don’t see what your point is,” Keith said.

Lance and Pidge shared a look before Lance’s smile widened. “You’ve never once mentioned finding anyone attractive in the nearly two months since we’ve known you.”

Keith made a dismissive noise. “We don’t all fall in love with every person who smiles at us.”

“And,” Lance continued speaking louder, as if to drown out Keith’s voice, “you also said he had a nice smile, and that it was a bad idea to like him which means you _already_ like him and don’t want to because of some silly preconceived notions about frat boys. Also you told him your name! You, Keith Kogane, engaged in flirtatious dialogue with the campus hottie. Admit it, you have a crush.”

“I’ll admit no such thing. Also they’re not some silly preconceived notions. Frat guys are all assholes.”

Pidge stopped shoving popcorn in her mouth, and Hunk and Lance shared a look.

“What?” Keith asked, feeling as if he had missed some important bit of information.

“Matt’s in a fraternity,” Pidge said slowly, a funny look on her face.

“Wait, your brother is in a frat?” Keith balked, trying to figure out how the fuck he could have not noticed that. Granted he’d only met Matt twice, once when he was helping Pidge move the couches into their apartment the day after he’d moved in, and the second time last week when he’d dropped by at almost midnight with two hot pizzas because he’d known Pidge had an important exam coming up. He’d decided to not only feed his baby sister but his sister’s roommates while they stayed up all night studying.

“His shirt had his fraternity on it both times, Keith,” Pidge said not unkindly, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

Keith tried to recall what the hell Matt had been wearing both times, but couldn’t remember anything except the fact that Matt looked like a taller, older version of Pidge. The first time he’d seen him, Matt had been half hidden behind the oversized couches he was helping Hunk carry up the stairs, and the second time Keith had been so grateful to see the pizza boxes he’d barely muttered out a _thank you_ before shuffling sleepily into the kitchen and hoping food might make his ability to finish his overdue essay easier. “I didn’t notice.”

“Dude, are you fucking blind?” Lance asked.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Keith grumbled, throwing the couch cushion at Lance’s head. It bounced off and fell to the floor, and Lance flipped him off.

“So now that we’ve established that Keith is oblivious, can we please get back to this mystery frat boy. Maybe I know him,” Pidge said, clearly hoping to diffuse the tension.

“Exactly how many frat boys do you know?” Keith asked.

Pidge shrugged. “I’ve met enough. Some of them really are drunk assholes, but most of them are pretty decent.” Keith gave her a disbelieving look, and Pidge grinned. “Alright most of them dress like complete idiots and they act like even bigger idiots when they’re drunk, but a lot of them do volunteer work, and they’re funny and pretty loyal. Last year I was getting picked on by a few sanctimonious jerks for being the only girl in the advanced aerodynamics seminar, so Matt’s entire fraternity walked me to and from class twice a week for four months. Besides, Matt's best friend is in the same frat as him, and he’s almost like family. Seriously, I think I like him more than I like Matt.”

Keith pulled on the loose threads of his jeans in the hole at the thigh. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t know. I’m just saying, not all frat guys are douchebags. So, who is it?” She asked, nudging him with her elbow. “Who is this mystery man that’s got you showing us feelings for the first time?”

“Shiro,” Keith answered quietly, still staring at his jeans. He wasn’t used to having friends, to having people who wanted to know about his life or cared if he had a crush on anyone. He’d never had any friends growing up, not really, and most of his foster parents had cared more about him staying out of trouble than whether he was happy. 

Pidge let out a low whistle. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Hunk and Lance told me already. I get it. Everyone knows who Shiro is except for me, apparently. You can spare me the _‘he might be a good guy’_ speech too, because even though he was nice enough at the gym, there’s just no way in hell someone that attractive isn’t a conceited asshole.”

“I can’t believe you two didn’t tell him,” Pidge said, throwing a handful of popcorn at Hunk and Lance.

“If we had, he wouldn't have told us any more!” Lance yelled.

“To be fair he didn’t actually tell us more than his name anyway,” Hunk added, putting the popcorn that had landed in his lap into his mouth with a shrug.

Lance waved his hand dismissively. “Details, my man. Details.”

“What didn’t anyone tell me?”

All three heads swiveled in his direction at the same time. 

“Shiro is Matt’s best friend,” Pidge said, her eyes wide behind her impossibly large glasses. 

“Oh,” Keith answered, unsure why that felt like such a big deal.

“He’s a really good guy,” Pidge said earnestly.

“And really fucking hot,” Lance added, ignoring the handful of popcorn Pidge threw at him again. 

“There’s more to people than just their looks,” Hunk agreed.

At the same time that Lance started to say something, Pidge launched into an already-familiar speech about the dangers of judging people on their physical appearance. Keith had heard that same speech twice in the last two weeks alone, and he began to tune out the sounds of their voices as they each began to try to talk over each other—at least until he caught wind that they were arguing about whether or not Keith should date Shiro.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Keith interrupted. “You three can just stop right there. First of all, I don’t want to date Shiro, and second of all, even if I did, he doesn’t like me back—”

“You said he flirted with you!” Lance interrupted.

Keith groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “He probably flirts with everyone. I mean, have you seen him? He looks like he should be a model. People that good-looking know they’re attractive and like to flirt. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Pidge began clearing her throat loudly, making an obnoxious humming sound. Keith tried to ignore it for all of thirty seconds, but Pidge simply began to do it louder.

“Fine. What?” Keith asked, already aware that there was no way she was going to stop until someone asked her what she was thinking. Pidge was about as subtle as a brick wall.

“Shiro doesn’t flirt with people. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s nice. Probably too nice. Honestly, he’s like the human version of that smiley baby sun on the Teletubbies, except, you know, less creepy. He’s just—always happy. Even when things are going to shit, and there’s every reason to be upset, he finds a reason not to be. But I’ve known him half my life and while he’s definitely nice to everyone, he rarely flirts. When Shiro does something he means it.”

Keith’s stomach flipped uncomfortably at the idea that Shiro had simply been being nice to him. He felt stupid for letting himself think otherwise. “Then I was wrong. He probably wasn't flirting with me after all. He was probably just being nice, like you said. Besides, I told you it doesn’t matter. I don’t _like_ him.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Hunk said with a smile.

“I don’t like Shiro,” Keith insisted again.

Lance smiled, voice dripping with disbelief. “Sure you don’t.”

“I feel like it's statistically not possible to dislike Shiro. Not liking him would be like hating puppies or hating being happy,” Pidge said.

Keith sighed. “I didn’t say I disliked him. I just don’t _like him_ , like him.”

“Right, sure,” she agreed, leaning against the side of couch. “Whatever you say.”

Keith thought back to Shiro at the gym—to Shiro’s impossibly attractive body and his easy smile. He thought of Pidge saying Shiro was more than a pretty face—about him apparently being the human embodiment of actual sunshine—and felt more certain than ever that someone like that would most certainly not like someone like Keith. 

“I don’t like him,” he said again, except this time he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or his friends.

 

****

***~*~*~***

Keith spent the next week going to the gym every single day. He told himself it was not solely so he could try to run into Shiro again, but he also knew that was a complete lie. Luckily, Keith had a lot of experience lying to himself.

Unfortunately, Shiro didn’t show up at the gym again on Monday or Tuesday or any of the other four consecutive days Keith went. Or if he did it wasn’t at eleven at night like Keith. He wondered if Shiro was busy, or if he normally worked out at a different time and running into him that late had been a complete fluke. Then he got annoyed at himself for spending so long thinking about a hot guy who paid attention to him for five minutes.

By the time Saturday rolled around again, Keith was feeling decidedly grumpy. He’d not only gone to the gym every day that week already—something he never did—but he’d caught his eyes trailing after every group of guys he passed on campus or in between classes in search of Shiro’s broad shoulders or his bright smile. 

It wasn’t as if Keith had never found other people attractive. He might’ve been a loner by nature, but he was still human. It wasn’t like he was a monk for fuck’s sake. He had two exes—both complete douchebags—and a handful of one night stands, all of whom he was more than happy to keep in the past where they belonged. So no, Keith wasn’t immune to being attracted to other people, and he wasn’t some inexperienced virgin, not by a long shot. In fact, Keith found sex a lot easier to deal with than relationships. At least with sex he always knew what the other guy wanted from him. With relationships, things were so much more complicated—awkward social encounters and fake gestures of adoration that were rarely sincere. Love was a farce. In the end everyone left, and the idea of commiting to one person was laughable—which was exactly the problem here. Every time Keith let his eyes wander across the library or crowded quad in the hopes of spotting Shiro, it became harder and harder to tell himself he only wanted to _look._

Which is how he found himself sitting on the couch alone at midnight, eating a giant bowl of Cap’n Crunch and trying to resist the urge to look up Shiro on Instagram. Keith hated Instagram, or at least he hated what it represented. He couldn’t stand that people friended everyone they’d ever met and spent more time cultivating the appearance of their lives rather than actually living them. Most of the people he’d met had too many perfect pictures of food that couldn't possibly taste as good as it looked, or perfect selfies that had to have been the result of at least fifty bad shots.

The moment he was sure Pidge had finally gone to bed, and Lance and Hunk were too busy doing who knew what in the kitchen, he swiped open his phone and clicked on the Instagram app. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked it, maybe sometime last week when he’d finished the sketch of one of the abandoned corners of the library and liked it enough to post it. It took only a few seconds to find Pidge, and then only a few minutes of scrolling to find a photo of her and Matt. Now that he knew what to look for, it seemed obvious Matt was in a frat, from the ugly grey basketball shorts and neon yellow t-shirt, to the cheesy finger guns he was making in the photo. Hesitating for only a few seconds, he clicked on Matt’s name— _ShotGunHolt_ —and snorted. Matt’s Instagram was unsurprisingly full of bad photos of what Keith could only assume were his frat brothers in awkward situations including something that looked like a bubble party and someone’s pale ass smashed against a bus window. Shaking his head, he kept scrolling until his stomach flipped at the sight of a familiar shock of white hair sticking out of a baseball cap. He and Matt were wearing matching pink polo shirts and khaki shorts, and Shiro’s head was thrown back in laugh as he draped his arm around Matt’s shoulder. Keith’s eyes skimmed over the caption and he almost dropped his phone in excitement when he saw that Matt had in fact tagged Shiro.

Licking his lips once, Keith leaned over and deposited his empty cereal bowl on the floor before falling back into the corner of the couch and staring at his phone. Fuck, once he did this there was no going back. Sure, no one would know he’d been lowkey internet stalking the guy, but Keith would know. He wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t care what Shiro’s face looked like when he smiled, or wonder how his laugh might sound, or think about what he’d look like naked in Keith’s bed without thinking of himself as a pathetic loser who’d resorted to looking Shiro up on social media to a get a fix of the guy’s face. Fuck. This was definitely getting out of hand. The only thing for it was to get it over with and click on Shiro’s name and see once and for all that he was probably some self-absorbed run-of-the-mill frat boy. Even his username— _TShirogane_ —was uncreative and forgettable. Steeling all of his courage, Keith tagged Shiro’s name and held his breath as he waited for the photos to load.

At first glance Shiro’s profile was everything Keith would’ve expected from a popular frat boy. First of all, his page was public—who the hell had a public profile these days?—and his profile photo was a shot of Shiro from behind, standing on the the top of the steps to what Keith could only assume was his fraternity, his signature snapback cap on backward and his fingers pointing to the back of his shirt with his fraternity name written across his broad shoulders. 

“Fucking seriously,” Keith muttered when he looked at Shiro’s follower count and saw that he had 5,252. Seriously. Who the fuck knew over five thousand people? Logically he knew Shiro probably didn’t actually _know_ them all, but still. Keith’s own follower count of 41 seemed woefully pathetic all of the sudden. Not that Keith put much stock into followers or social media popularity, but it hit him then that in almost nineteen years of life there were fewer than fifty people who cared what he was doing.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find on Shiro’s profile, maybe some red Solo cups and lots of out-of-focus drunk selfies and gym shots. There were definitely more than a fair few gym selfies—and fuck, did Shiro have ample angles to show off—but there were also a lot of photos of things besides Shiro at the gym. Not that Keith would’ve minded an entire page of just those. After the tenth photo of Shiro’s abs, Keith was starting to think he’d be able to picture every ripple of Shiro’s abs even with his eyes shut. The further he scrolled, the worse it got once he got to Shiro’s summer photos. He had no idea where Shiro had gone, but it had involved a lot of sand and sun and very little clothing. Most of the photos were of Shiro in bathing suit bottoms so bright Keith thought they should be illegal, and shots of Shiro’s strong thighs and calves half buried in the sand. Keith’s personal favorite, though, was one of Shiro in a hammock, one leg thrown over the side as he napped in the sun. He was wearing a pair of white bathing suit bottoms and a bright coral tank top that read—Sun’s Out, Guns Out—and for once his usual baseball hat was lying in the sand. For the first time Keith caught sight of Shiro’s shock of all-white hair, the little tuft at the front falling into his eyes. It should’ve been ridiculous. On anyone else Keith would’ve said that it was an attention-seeking outfit and not something anyone should ever be seen wearing in public. The problem was, seeing it on Shiro left Keith with one thought and one alone. Shiro was adorable, which was really a fucking problem because Keith was supposed to be lusting after Shiro’s perfect abs and biceps, not having an internal crisis over whether Shiro looked sweet in his sleep.

“Pull yourself together,” he grumbled to himself, pulling his hoodie up over his hair and trying to shove himself as far into the corner of the couch as possible.

The more Keith scrolled, the worse—or better depending on how Keith looked it— the photos got. Along with the expected smattering of photos of Shiro with his frat brothers in cheesy matching outfits for what looked like various charity events like car washes and some sort of luncheon fundraiser, there were also a handful of Shiro or his various friends barely clothed at wild-looking frat parties. Keith wanted to be able to snort and call the parties stupid and cliché, but he couldn’t, not when everyone looked so fucking happy in all of them. Worse still was the moment Keith found a particularly good photo of Shiro, his muscles oiled up and wearing nothing but a short toga as he held a trophy made of what looked like toilet paper rolls above his head, and Keith groaned because fuck, Shiro’s body was definitely built to be displayed. Keith had always thought togas were stupid, far too close to dresses, except there was nothing feminine about Shiro’s thick thighs and wide chest beneath the gauzy white fabric. 

By the time Keith realized he’d scrolled so far he was back to photos from well over a year ago, he couldn’t make himself stop. Sure, there were plenty of photos of Shiro’s protein shakes and people Keith didn’t know, but there were photos of Shiro with an old woman with grey hair and the same kind smile, photos of piles of books Shiro had apparently read for _fun_ —many of which Keith had read as well. Then there was the photo of Shiro at a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving, and the lack of frat brothers or cheesy caption made it clear this was something Shiro had chosen to do. As Keith scrolled he began to feel like he knew Shiro. There was no clear aesthetic, but it was clear that Shiro valued certain things—friendship, kindness, and small pleasures like a bag of taffy on a pier, or the apparent ten times he’d ordered a pumpkin spice latte last year. 

Keith looked at the clock on his phone, saw it was nearly two in the morning, and knew he needed to sleep. But he couldn’t seem to make himself stop scrolling. Shiro was nice to look at, really fucking nice. But more than that, Keith could see hints of his personality in his photos and captions—his apparent endless positivity and his ability to make fun of fun himself. The more Keith looked, the more he wanted to look, which felt fucking dangerous.

Shiro wasn’t just attractive, he was _nice_. Really, really nice.

Keith resolved to only look at five more photos, then he was absolutely going to cut himself off and close the app, except after the fifth photo Keith noticed the next one was a video. In the pages and pages Keith had already scrolled through, there hadn’t been a single video yet, and Keith couldn’t ignore his curiosity. It was only one video. He could just watch that one video, and then he’d close Instagram and stop stalking Shiro’s page. 

Tapping the image with his thumb, Keith chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for it to stop buffering. Fucking communal wi-fi was going to kill him. The location setting was on the video, and Keith had all of three seconds to read the name of the animal shelter Shiro must have been at before the video began to play, and Keith decided everything he thought he was sure of was clearly wrong.

It was Shiro. Shiro sitting on the floor in nothing but a pair of Nike joggers and hideous Adidas slip-on sandals. His usual backward cap was on and for some reason, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. But Shiro’s beautiful bare chest wasn’t what caught Keith’s attention. At least not at first. It was the fact that Shiro was surrounded by an entire litter of fat, fluffy puppies all climbing in his lap. Shiro threw his head back and began to laugh heartily as the puppies licked his hands and stomach and Keith was positive this video was going to be his cause of death.

Puppies. Shiro and puppies. How the fuck was his sleep-deprived brain supposed to handle the cuteness overload of Shiro rolling around on the floor in a pile of puppies? It was like some sort of fucking assault on Keith’s heart in which he could no longer pretend that he just thought Shiro was hot. 

Keith had a crush.

Fucked. Keith was completely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been commenting and following along with this story! I hope you like today's chapter which is ripe with more friendship dynamics, denial and some instagram flirting.

Keith didn’t want to have a crush on anyone, least of all on the most popular frat guy on campus. It was a recipe for disaster in which the only logical outcome was Keith having his heart broken because someone like Shiro could not possible like someone like Keith.

Keith needed to shut Instagram. He needed to turn his phone off and fucking hide it from himself. Except Keith didn’t have that kind of self-control and never had. Instead, when the too-short video stopped playing, Keith found himself tapping the screen to see it again, his chest filled with an uncomfortable fluttering sensation as he watched the pure bliss spread across Shiro’s face when the runt of the litter began to nuzzle its fluffy head into his abs. Fuck.

Keith closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Once more. He could watch the video once more, and that was it. Surely one more time couldn’t hurt anything. Except at the exact moment Keith's finger was hovering above his screen debating whether three times was too many to watch, a noise outside startled him, and Keith jumped, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem except Keith’s finger had been poised above the video. With a dawning sense of horror, Keith looked at his phone and the red heart beneath Shiro’s video which was no longer transparent but bright red.

Keith had liked the video. Keith had liked Shiro’s nearly year and a half old video of puppies. 

“Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he yelled, tapping the heart aggressively. 

The red heart disappeared, but Keith knew it was too late. Shiro was going to get the notification anyway. Keith dropped his phone onto the couch as if he’d been burned, staring at it in abject horror. What the actual fuck had he just done?

Five minutes later, once Keith decided his phone was probably not going to spontaneously combust if he touched it again, he picked it up, swiped open the lock screen, and sighed in relief when he looked at his own Instagram profile and saw _nothing_. Of course there were no new notifications. Shiro had over five thousand followers, and it was an ungodly hour. Not only was Shiro probably asleep like most normal people, there was no way he was going to pay attention to some random Instagram notification from someone he didn’t follow. Even if he did see it he’d probably chalk it up to some rando and move on. 

Things were fine. Everything was fine.

Shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket, Keith stood up from the couch and eyed his dirty bowl on the floor. Maybe he’d wash it tomorrow. Abandoning it on the floor, he walked towards his bedroom, flipping the lights off as he left the living room. 

Keith made his way to his own room, pulling out his phone, plugging it into his charger, and dropping it on the nightstand before climbing into bed. Fuck, Keith was tired.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Keith rolled onto his side, hugging to his chest the extra pillow he slept with, and closed his eyes. Unbidden images of a half-naked Shiro in a pile of puppies filled Keith’s thoughts and he was half-asleep when his phone let out an unexpected ding. Keith’s eyes shot open, and he scrambled for his phone, stomach dropping in horror as his lock screen flashed a new Instagram notification. Keith was too bleary-eyed to even read the notification properly, and he sat up so quickly he pulled his entire charger from the phone as he unlocked his screen and swiped right until he found the Instagram app.

Deciding it was better to get this potential life-ending embarrassment over, Keith opened the app and saw the little red dot below the heart. Keith had so few followers and updated his own Instagram so sporadically, he rarely had any notifications. With a growing sense of dread, Keith clicked on the heart and saw one single new notification.

_TShiorgane has requested to follow you._

Keith’s palms began to sweat as he dropped the phone into his lap. What the fuck? Was he asleep? Maybe he was dreaming. He’d looked at Shiro’s profile for long enough to know that despite having thousands of followers, Shiro followed fewer than two hundred people back, which meant Shiro didn’t follow every single person who followed him. Which meant Shiro had seen Keith’s notification and clicked on his name purposely and asked to follow him. Keith’s profile was private, which mean the only photo Shiro would’ve seen was his profile photo, which was honestly one of the only photos of himself Keith had ever posted. It was taken by one of his foster siblings on the day he’d gotten his college acceptance letter, and he had an actual smile on his face. Even though the family had let him go the day he’d turned eighteen, he’d been unable to forget the fleeting memory of feeling happy and safe. Even all these months later, every time Keith had entertained the idea of making his profile photo one of his sketches or the cover of a favorite book, something had held him back. Keith hadn’t had a lot of memories of being happy, but he’d been happy then, and for some reason it felt like something to hold on to.

What the hell was Keith supposed to do? He couldn’t decline the request, that would be rude and stupid. Granted, he’d declined Lance’s friend request, but Lance was Lance. This was Shiro.

If he accepted the friend request, then Shiro was going to be able to see all of Keith’s photos. He was going to see that Keith didn’t have a lot of friends, that he drank his coffee black, and that he liked to sketch stray cats and dead trees. He was going to see all kinds of things about Keith that Keith normally wouldn’t think too hard about, except he’d just spent two hours stalking Shiro’s profile, and he had a newfound appreciation for the things you could discover about someone by looking at what they posted. The idea of letting Shiro maybe, possibly, discover those same kinds of things made Keith want to throw up a little bit.

Maybe he could just ignore the request, at least for a little while. It wasn’t like Shiro knew Keith had Instagram notifications turned on. For all Shiro knew, Keith had put his phone away and not seen the notification. His phone dinged again, and Keith looked down to see the little arrow in the top corner had turned blue with a number one above it. There was a message. A message from Shiro.

There was no way he could ignore _that_ , so Keith clicked on the message.

_**TShirogane** \- Hey, hopefully this isn’t weird. It’s Shiro. From the gym last week. I uh...I recognized your photo._

Keith stared at the message, unsure how to identify the mix of feelings swirling inside of him. Shiro recognized his photo and wanted to be his friend. The pit of despair and embarrassment Keith had wanted to drown in was slowly receding, replaced by an unexpected thrill of pleasure.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- Oh, hey, no it’s fine. I uh...I’m friends with Pidge. I accidently found your profile and my hand must’ve slipped while I was eating cereal and accidentally liked an old photo. Sorry about that._

Keith swallowed and hit send before he could erase it all and change his mind. It was a terrible lie, but Keith never had been any good at lying. It was one of the things people usually didn’t like about him. He’d just found it easier to tell people the truth and let the chips fall where they may. Well, usually. There was no way in hell he was going to be honest with Shiro about the puppy video. Keith was honest, but he wasn’t stupid.

After he hit send he went back to his notifications and accepted Shiro’s friend request before he had too much time to think about what he was doing. Keith had never let what someone else might think of him affect how he acted, and now wasn’t a good time to start. Maybe Keith wasn’t popular, and he liked obscure novels, and he took his coffee the complete opposite of Shiro. Keith was okay with who he was. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. If Shiro didn’t like what he saw, then he was more than welcome to unfriend Keith. Besides, this way Keith could gauge Shiro from afar, without having to suffer the possible rejection in person once Shiro realized Keith wasn’t as full of sunshine and positivity as he was.

Keith dropped his head back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, willing himself not to stare at his phone. Just because Shiro had sent him a friend request and a single message didn’t mean he was going to keep talking to him. He needed to get ahold of himself. Keith willed himself to relax and stop thinking about Shiro, and his brain drifted in that weird place between sleep and wakefulness, when his phone alerted him to another Instagram message. Keith swiped it open embarrassingly fast.

_**TShirogane** \- Ok so two questions. One: did you really draw all that art? Because it’s really good, dude. And two: how many times have you seen the Blade of Marmora? I’ve never met anyone else who's seen it. I tried to get my best friend to watch it once but he has no appreciation for true classics._

Keith felt his mouth drop open in surprise that Shiro had scrolled through his profile and liked his art, but even more so that Shiro seemed to know what Keith’s username referenced. _The Blade of Marmora_ was an old indie kung fu movie from the 80s. One of Keith’s older foster brothers had introduced him to it, and at seven years old and feeling unwanted, the idea of a hero who fought injustice all on his own—who needed and wanted no one else’s help—had filled Keith with a kind of awe and wonder. Keith had promised himself that when he grew up he wouldn’t need anyone else either. Over the next few months, Keith had watched the DVD so many times he knew every single line by heart. The day his foster family had said, “We think another family will be what you need, dear” and shipped him off to be someone else’s problem, his foster brother had put the DVD in his hand and told him to be brave.

It had seemed a natural choice to pick his Instagram handle based on his favorite movie. The problem with choosing that username became apparent when after nearly two years, he’d realized that not a single fucking person knew what movie it was. To his complete horror, most people seemed to think _BladeofMarmora_ of was some sort of made up fantasy name or something from Harry Potter—as if some a boy wizard could ever be as badass as a true kung fu master. 

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- did you google the Blade of Marmora or have you actually seen it? Don’t lie either!_

_**TShirogane** \- I would never lie! I’ve seen it, dude. Seven times! Iverson is an actual master. It’s the most underrated kung fu movie of all time._

Keith’s heart raced faster. Shiro knew what his favorite movie was. Shiro had seen his favorite movie. Fuck was this what Cinderella felt like when the prince found her glass slipper? The second he had the thought, Keith wanted to suffocate himself with his own pillow. What in the actual fuck was happening to his brain?

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- I didn’t expect someone like you to have seen it_

_**TShirogane** \- Someone like me meaning?_

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- hot? frat guy?_

_**TShirogane** \- I’d assume you had some weird idea that only non-attractive people watch kung fu movies but since you’re also hot I’m going to guess you’re mostly thinking it’s a frat thing. I’ll let you in on a little secret. When I’m not drinking beer from red Solo cups and stalking around campus chanting my fraternity’s motto, I do really normal things like eat and watch movies like any other guy. ;)_

Keith flushed with embarrassment, but for once the winky face didn’t seem riddled with passive aggressiveness or ulterior motives. He was pretty sure Shiro was genuinely poking fun at himself and fraternity stereotypes, of which Keith was realizing he’d been very guilty of blindly believing. 

Keith was glad he was alone in his room so no one could see the way his cheeks were flushing. He’d been called hot before, but never had it made the blood in his very veins run hot. Not like this.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- i dunno, wearing togas to a party doesn't seem like a totally normal thing to do_

The second Keith sent the message his stomach fell. He’d just inadvertently outed himself as having stalked Shiro’s profile _again_. Fuck, what if he thought Keith was a stalker (which alright, he sort of was), or a complete weirdo (which alright, he also sort of was). 

He stared at the three bubbles that let him know Shiro was typing, wishing the earth might swallow him whole.

_**TShirogane** \- You mean togas aren’t totally normal clothing? Damnit. There goes my next gym outfit._

Keith bit back a smile. Shiro wasn’t giving any indication he thought Keith was weird. In fact, Keith was pretty sure Shiro was flirting with him again. 

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- sorry to say I’m pretty sure they’re not, although it was nice to see you wearing something different_

_**TShirogane** \- Is this your way of saying you don’t like my tank tops and snapbacks? Because I’ve gotta tell you that might be a deal breaker for this burgeoning relationship. I really love my hats. :)_

Keith couldn’t help but snort at Shiro’s apparent fondness for emojis, his face heating again at Shiro’s actual words. _Relationship_. Fuck. He knew Shiro was just teasing him, but there was still something unexpected and alluring about seeing Shiro type that word. It reminded Keith of being fifteen again and developing his first _real_ crush on someone all over again. He was used to liking how guys looked—used to wanting to fuck them or be fucked by them. But this? The idea of being happy because he thought he'd made Shiro smile or laugh, this was unchartered territory, and Keith wanted to board a rocket and blast himself straight into outer space. Sex, Keith could handle. Feelings, not so much. 

Not that there were feelings. _Yet._ The problem was Keith was having a hard time denying that he was pretty certain he wanted there to be, and that fucking terrified him. Of course that didn't seem to be stopping him from flirting. It seemed so much easier over the phone. He knew Shiro was real, but not having to look at his perfect face when he wrote these things made it easier to say them.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- not sure what it says about me, but im apparently very attracted to dudes in backwards caps and painfully bright shirts_

_**TShirogane** \- are you telling me you’ve got the hots for one of my frat brothers? ;)_

God someone needed to tell Shiro that was too many winky emojis. Except, Keith was smiling. He was honest to god shoving his face into his pillow and smiling. Once he felt like he had control of his facial features, he started typing again.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- no, definitely you. Apparently im developing some kind of fetish for white tufts of hair_

_**TShirogane** \- LOL. You’re funny._

_Shit, I just realized what time it was. I promised to help a friend move some furniture tomorrow morning and if I don’t get some sleep I’m not going to be very fun to be around. It was nice talking to you Keith with the good taste in movies. Sleep well._

Keith scrunched his eyes up, and even though he was alone, he couldn’t suppress the uncontrollable urge to hide his face behind his hands. Fuck. Why was this making him feel like this? Exhaling slowly, he forced himself to answer.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- night shiro, the guy with bad taste in clothes but also possibly good taste in movies_

There was no response, and he could only assume Shiro had already gone to bed, but Keith fell asleep with a stupid smile on his face nonetheless.

 

****

***~*~*~***

“Oh my god, he’s smiling again. Should we call the police?” Lance asked, mouth full of french toast.

Keith eyed him from beneath his fringe as he finished sending a message to Shiro. Once he was done he turned his phone off and plopped it facedown on the table beside his own steaming plate of french toast. 

“I smile sometimes,” Keith said.

Pidge made a noise of disagreement as she walked into the small kitchen and sat down in between Lance and Keith. “No, you don’t.”

“Sometimes I do,” Keith grumbled.

“Keith, my man, you’ve smiled more in the last week than you have in the last few months since we met you,” Hunk said, setting a plate of french toast in front of Pidge before sitting in the last unoccupied seat.

“That’s true,” Pidge agreed, reaching for the jar of strawberry jelly in the center of the table. Keith grimaced. Pidge was about to ruin perfectly good french toast with jelly. Gross.

“So have you been possessed, is someone threatening you, or—” Lance paused, flinging a bit of food at Hunk as he waved his fork around wildly. His voice took on an unnaturally high pitched tone, “Are you a clone?”

“If I was a clone would I know it?” Keith asked seriously, reaching for the bottle of syrup in the middle of the table. He flipped the cap open and drizzled a decidedly unhealthy amount of maple-flavored syrup all over his french toast.

Lance and Hunk both appeared to actually be thinking it over, and Pidge snorted loudly as she swallowed her food. 

“You were nicer to me than normal when I asked to borrow your three-hole punch yesterday,” Lance said.

“Oh, and you didn’t complain when the only pizza left on Monday had mushrooms,” Hunk added.

“Guys, if Keith were actually a clone he would look exactly like himself and have all the same memories, so clearly none of us would have any idea. Haven’t you ever watched the sci-fi channel? The whole point of clones is the lack of detection even by his closest friends,” Pidge said.

Something unfamiliar and warm settled in his chest at Pidge’s words. _Friends_.

“Look, he’s doing it again!” Lance yelled, knocking the syrup over with his wild gesturing. “Seeing Keith smile this much is like catching a glimpse of a unicorn.”

Keith’s snort was drowned out by Hunk’s voice.

“I don’t why he’s doing it, though,” Hunk said, apparently more interested in Keith than his breakfast. “What’s going on?”

“Guys, I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on,” Pidge interjected. Keith finally tore his eyes away from the food he’d macerated with a butter knife, to look at Pidge, who looked particularly smug. The only thing that made Pidge happier than finishing her school work before someone else was knowing something no one else knew.

Keith hadn’t thought he was that obvious about it.

“Well, are you going to tell us?” Lance asked with two raised eyebrows.

Hunk nodded. “Part of the code of friendship is to share information, dude. Don’t hold out on us, Pidge.”

Pidge’s smile faltered slightly. “Ah, well, it’s not exactly my secret to tell, is it.”

Surprisingly, it was Lance who nodded his head in agreement first. Hunk nodded as well before finally digging into his french toast.

Was this what having friends was like? People who genuinely wanted to know what was going on with you, but also respected if you didn’t want them to know? Keith’s limited experience of friendship had been his various foster siblings, all of whom had been just as wary of making more attachments when they all knew how likely they were be separated at any moment. His foster parents hadn’t been much better. Most of them had either claimed to care so much they’d pried into every aspect of Keith’s life, giving him no privacy or autonomy whatsoever, or they’d acted like at sixteen he was already an adult and told him so long as he didn’t cause trouble they didn’t care what he did. That was the thing about being in the system: you wanted connections with people almost as much as they terrified you. Nothing felt permanent, ever—not your home, not your family, not your friends. The only thing that was ever a real constant was yourself, which is exactly why Keith had gotten used to not needing people.

His roommates had all moved on. They weren’t pushing Keith to find out what was going on even though he knew they wanted to know. For the first time in a long time Keith found himself wanting to tell someone what was going on. His natural inclination to hide everything—especially things that made him happy—for fear of them being snatched away was tempered by the growing realization that these people really were his friends. They weren’t looking for weaknesses or ways to change him, they were simply looking to get to know him.

“I’ve been talking to Shiro,” Keith found himself saying. 

It was almost comical to see their reactions. Pidge sat up straighter, looking immensely proud of herself—Keith reminded himself to ask her how she’d known later—while Lance began to choke on his orange juice, and Hunk’s mouth fell open in a perfect imitation of a gaping fish. 

“Shiro? _Takashi Shirogane?_ Backwards cap and winning smile? Shiro the frat bro? Sun’s out, guns out Shiro? Shiro the senior who is graduating with a double major in political science and advanced astrophysics?” Lance said with a faux air of calmness.

Keith felt the smile spreading across his face so rapidly he couldn’t have stopped it even if he wanted too. That was another thing about Shiro that Keith had never expected—he was smart. Really fucking smart. But he didn’t use his knowledge to make Keith feel stupid, and he didn’t use it to make sure everyone knew how smart he was. Being intelligent and driven was just something innately Shiro, something he seemed to accept quietly as if it were only for himself. Keith had never met anyone so smart, so attractive, or so accomplished, who didn’t use their superiority to their own advantedge—to make sure people knew they were better than everyone else. Keith hadn’t actually talked to Shiro in person again yet, since Shiro was apparently holed up in his room working on a twenty-page paper for one of his senior seminar classes. But Keith felt confident that the Shiro who had sent him nearly a thousand messages in the last three days was the same Shiro he’d be if they had actually been talking in person over coffee. There was something in the way Shiro typed, something undeniably _Shiro_ in his fondness for proper punctuation and cute smiley faces. Shiro’s easy words were always undeniably open and earnest in a way that had left Keith breathless more than once. Shiro was apparently just as likely to tell Keith something off-hand about outer space that left him in awe of Shiro’s mind, as he was to send Keith a photo of him trying to fit twenty full-size marshmallows in his mouth without choking, or ask him who his favorite Harry Potter character was. 

For as long as Keith could remember, people had wanted him to be someone he wasn’t. They’d wished he was smarter, or nicer, more sociable, or easier to talk to. They needed Keith to be different for _them_. 

Keith was used to people pretending they liked him because they had to, and here was Shiro, seeing Keith for exactly who he was, laughing at his sometimes dark sense of humor, or almost instantly liking the silly comic of a cat and puppy becoming friends Keith posted on Instagram at one in the morning—which he absolutely did not draw just to try to make Shiro smile. It was as if all the little things about Keith were what made him special, instead of what made him difficult. Shiro kept messaging Keith on Instagram with inane questions like, ‘If you could only be one flavor of ice cream what would you be?” or ‘Would you go to outer space if you knew you might never get back to earth?’

Shiro was unashamed to be himself and seemed to genuinely like that Keith was as well. Keith had thought after that first message that they might never talk again, but the next morning he’d woken up to a photo of Shiro’s stack of textbooks and the message _save me_. Without even giving it a second thought, Keith had grabbed a blank piece of paper and drawn a quick sketch of himself with a sword fighting Shiro’s pile of books which had all joined together to form a giant book robot. Five minutes later Keith had been rewarded with a photo of Shiro laughing so hard there were actual tears in his eyes followed by the message _How many times you gonna save me, Kogane?_

Keith had bitten the inside of his cheek and typed back _as many times as it takes_.

They’d fallen into a routine after that where Shiro would send random messages or photos of what he were doing, and Keith would reply with something sarcastic that would make Shiro laugh. Night after night Keith found himself falling asleep with his phone in hand and a smile on his face.

“Do you know another Shiro?” Pidge said loudly with a roll of her eyes, chucking a balled-up napkin at Lance’s face.

“Excuse me for wanting to be certain of what was going on. It’s not every day our little Keith falls in love,” Lance said.

Keith dropped his fork. “I’m not in love.”

“Fine, not yet, but I know that look in your eyes, Kogane. You could be. Don’t bother trying to deny it. Besides, I need all the details to ensure we haven’t suddenly been plunged into an alternate dimension.”

“If we were in an alternate dimension maybe you’d have a chance with Allura,” Pidge deadpanned. 

“Ha, ha. We’ll see who has the last laugh when Allura and I go on our date next week.”

“Wait, she agreed to go on a date with you?” Hunk asked.

Lance waved his hand dismissively. “I haven’t asked her yet, but that’s a very minor detail in the grand scheme of our love story. Besides, why are we talking about me when we could be talking about Keith and Shiro?”

Keith cleared his throat. “There is no Keith and Shiro,” he said, though he was hard-pressed to deny, at least to himself, how much he liked the way that sounded.

“Yet, Keith. Yet. What do you think your name will be?”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “Our name?”

Lance sighed dramatically. “Your name. All famous couples have a name. And alright, you're not famous, but Shiro is basically campus famous. I bet you guys could get a hashtag trending. I know! You could be called Sheith!” 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. And besides how come Shiro’s initial gets to come first?” Keith asked.

“I hope you’re not insinuating that because Shiro is older and bigger he’s somehow the leading factor in this relationship,” Pidge said, brandishing her forkful of mushy french toast at Lance like a weapon. “I’ve known Shiro a long time, and trust me he’s basically an overgrown puppy. He likes attention, and he likes to make people happy and—” she stopped, clearing her throat. “Well, the other things I know I’m not supposed to know, and Matt would kill me if I told anyone. But the point is, Keith is right. Maybe their couple name could be like Kakashi.”

“That does not roll off the tongue,” Hunk said, leaning back in his chair with a serious look on his face. “It sounds like some sort of fiber cereal. Honestly, it should definitely be something that has a nicer ring to it, like maybe Kero.”

Lance shook his head. “That does not have a nice ring to it. What the hell are you talking about? Clearly, Sheith is a better couple name.”

“Guys, Shiro and I are not a couple,” Keith tried again, though none of them seemed to be listening to him.

Keith’s phone dinged, and he flipped it over immediately, glad none of his friends were paying attention to him because his face broke out into a smile the second he saw Shiro’s Instagram handle in his notification bar. He swiped his phone open to to read the message immediately.

_**TShirogane**_ \- Hey, what are you doing RIGHT now?”

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- being tortured by my friends_

_**TShirogane**_ \- So that means you’re not busy then, right? Do you have plans today?

It was Saturday, which meant Keith didn’t have classes. His only plans for the day were to putter around the apartment in his pajamas and seeing how long he could put off doing his trig homework, and possibly trying to break his own record for how much cereal he could consume in one day—not that he wanted to tell Shiro that.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- nothing important why? _

_**TShirogane**_ \- Wanna do something? 

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- something like steal a car? _

_**TShirogane**_ \- Firstly, I’m not even going to address why your immediate thought is grand auto theft. Second it’s a surprise. Yes or no? 

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- i dont generally agree to things without knowing all the details _

_**TShirogane**_ \- Do you trust me?

Keith inhaled sharply. He glanced around the table, but they’d apparently moved on to an argument about whether Mrs. Butterworth's maple-flavored syrup was superior to Log Cabin. 

Dropping his eyes back to his phone screen, Keith exhaled slowly. He knew the answer, knew it to be true even if he couldn’t understand how it was possible after only talking to Shiro for a week.

_**BladeOfMarmora** \- yes _

_**TShirogane**_ Good. :) Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes. And dress warm! I’ll be in the black jeep.

“How does Shiro know where I live?” Keith wondered aloud, and three heads at the table swiveled towards him.

“Oh, about that,” Pidge said, looking guilty all of the sudden. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Shiro might’ve asked Matt, and I might’ve told Matt that you wouldn’t mind if he told Shiro.”

“Oh,” Keith said. “That’s—um,” but he couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t bad, but it was unexpected, and Keith’s past experiences with unexpected things usually ended in heartbreak and disappointment.

It was strange to think about Shiro talking about him with Matt, and then Matt talking about him with Pidge. Everything suddenly felt a lot bigger than just him and Shiro talking on the phone. Somehow over the last week Keith had found himself being honest in a way he never had before. Something about the guise of anonymity Instagram provided made it easier. He knew, of course, Shiro was a real person, of course he knew that, but with Shiro too busy to meet in public, things had felt easy and safe remaining on his phone. There was a small distance Keith was able to keep that made things less real even if he sometimes wanted more. 

“Wait, why does Shiro know where you live? What don’t I know? Someone tell me what’s happening!” Lance yelled, eyes widening to comical size.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling. “He’s coming to pick me up.”

Lance’s eyes lit up. Keith wondered if Lance always got this invested in other people’s social lives. “Oh my god, you guys are going on a date!”

“No, it’s not a date. He just said we were going to do something.”

“That’s a date, buddy,” Hunk agreed.

Keith shook his head, pushing away from the table. “I’m telling you, it’s not a date. I would know if it were a date.”

Twenty minutes later, Keith had the sneaking suspicion this was, in fact, a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been following this story! and for anyone just beginning to read, I hope you're enjoying it too! <3

Taking the stairs two at a time, Keith was out into the apartment parking lot in almost no time, relief flooding through him when he immediately spotted a black jeep with an idling engine in the visitors parking across from their block of apartments. It was silly to have doubted Shiro would come. He’d said he would, but all the same Keith wasn’t particularly used to people keeping their word.

Keith walked straight to Shiro, opened the door, and was halfway into the jeep before noticed Shiro’s clothing. Gone was his usual bright athletic wear, replaced by a pair of well-fitted jeans, a plain white shirt with a flannel button up thrown over it, and a thick, knitted black beanie covering his head. The familiar tuft of white hair still stuck out the front, and the smile on his face was so genuine Keith simply stood there, body half in the jeep, awkwardly gawking until Shiro laughed and patted the seat.

“Need any help?” he asked easily.

Keith felt his cheeks warm as he shook his head and dropped onto the leather seat, buckling his seatbelt and folding his hands in his lap.

“Do you wanna pick the music?” Shiro asked, nodding towards the dash. Keith shook his head, and Shiro grinned again, tapping the large touch screen a few times and turning on his playlist.

“I got you coffee. I hope you don’t mind. I might have possibly sort of stalked your Insta to see how you take it. Black as your soul right?” Shiro winked, picked up the tall cup of Starbucks coffee, and handed it to Keith.

“Oh my god, that caption was a joke,” Keith said, hiding his smile behind the lid of his coffee as he took a sip. It was hot and strong and so much better than the cheap store-brand coffee in a can Keith could usually afford. As he took a second drink his insides warmed, and he wasn’t sure it was just from the coffee.

“So, what are you drinking?” Keith asked, lifting up Shiro’s large cup, trying desperately to distract himself from the onslaught of emotions the simple act of Shiro bringing him coffee was threatening to produce. Keith turned the cup to the side and saw the word Captain scribbled on it instead of Shiro’s name. “ _Captain?_ ” he said with a raised eyebrow. A faint pink blush appeared on Shiro’s cheeks as he peeked at Keith quickly before putting his eyes back on the road and heading out of the complex. 

“It’s a Caramel Apple Spice.” At Keith's silence Shiro continued. “It’s basically just warm apple juice with cinnamon syrup, whipped cream and caramel sauce.”

“Wow, that doesn’t sound sickenly sweet at all.”

Shiro snorted. “Shut up. I like sweet things.”

He turned and gave Keith a wink, and Keith felt his entire body flush. God.

“So, the name?” Keith asked, clearing his throat and praying to all that was holy that he didn’t get an erection just from Shiro winking at him once. Honestly, there should be some sort of law against guys being as attractive as Shiro and nice and good at flirting. It wasn’t fucking fair.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, where exactly are we going? I might have time for a long story.”

“It’s still a surprise.” Shiro’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel, and Keith could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Grab a muffin, and get ready to be bored,” Shiro said.

“Muffin?” Keith queeried. Even though he’d just had a plate of Hunk’s traditional Saturday morning french toast, his stomach grumbled in anticipation of more food.

“There’s a box on the floor in the back. I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, and I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I...uh...I got a few kinds.”

Keith stared at Shiro for several long seconds before leaning back in between the seats, eyes landing on a huge bakery box on the floor. 

“Just a few, huh?” Keith teased, raising an eyebrow at Shiro even though Shiro had his eyes on the road and not on Keith. He grabbed the box and set it in his lap, breaking the sticker seal on the bottom and popping open the box. His eyes widened in surprise. There were at least a dozen different muffins in the box, each in a different colored paper muffin cup. There was even a little daisy sitting in the corner of the box.

Shiro snuck a quick glance at Keith, probably assessing his silence. “I wanted to get something you liked. I hope it’s alright. If you don’t like any of them we can stop and get something else.”

“I would’ve been fine with anything, or nothing. I’m not picky.” He didn't add that he’d never had the luxury of being picky. He’d trained himself to be able to eat anything a long time ago. The fastest way out of a foster home was to be difficult, and Keith had learned at a very young age that most grown-ups couldn’t stand picky eaters. Keith had never been able to control his emotions—to make himself stop crying or stop wetting the bed or stop feeling angry—but he’d learned how to choke down mushrooms even when he hated them and to ignore the prickle of distaste whenever something had pineapple in it. 

“The goal was not mere adequacy,” Shiro said seriously, clicking on his blinker for a full five seconds before safely switching lanes. “The goal was to find a muffin you actually liked.”

First coffee the way he liked it, and now this. Something in his chest fluttered as he reached for the muffin in the corner. “Oh, well, I like blueberries.”

Shiro’s face broke out into an easy smile. “Blueberries. Good. I’ll remember that for next time.”

 _Next time_. He was already planning next time. Keith tried not to think too far ahead—about what might happen if Shiro got bored or decided Keith wasn’t as funny in person as he was through the phone. It was just a muffin and coffee and some mystery location that was turning out to possibly be a date. But it didn’t have to be a big deal. There was no reason for Keith to panic.

True to his word, the second Keith began eating his muffin, Shiro launched into a long story about being mistaken for the campus quarterback months ago at Starbucks, and how he’d been too embarrassed to correct the friendly barista when she wrote Captain on his cup. And how he’d been going there for so long, everyone there called him that, and he felt like he was in too deep to let them all know he didn’t actually play football.

Nearly half an hour later Keith’s cheeks hurt from laughing, his stomach was full to bursting, and he was quite positive that Shiro in person was just as likeable as Shiro on the phone. He only hoped Shiro might feel the same.

Before Keith knew it, they’d made their way out of the city and to the edge of town where the streets were lined with sprawling red- and yellow-leaved trees that shaded the road. It was a part of the city Keith had not yet had the chance to explore, and he soaked it all in greedily. Ten minutes later, however, Keith’s curiosity was finally getting the best of him as he leaned his elbows on the dash and peered out the window. “Are we almost there yet?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there. Why, are you getting excited?” Shiro sounded amused.

“I’m simply curious if you’re taking me to the edge of town to dispose of my body. If you wanted to kill me there were much quicker ways. I bet they’ll be able to trace the murder back to you by examining the contents of my stomach and tracking down the undigested blueberry muffin to your early morning muffin-buying spree.”

Shiro barked out a laugh, deep and hearty, and Keith didn’t even try to hide his smile this time.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Shiro said, flicking on his blinker as they approached a long winding road. There was a huge hand-painted sign that read Altea Apple Orchards.

“I dunno if that’s good or bad,” Keith said honestly. “And apples? We’re picking apples? They sell apples at the grocery store, you know.”

“It’s a very good thing,” Shiro told him, ignoring the rest of Keith’s question as he turned down another road. Less than a minute later they were driving out into a huge dirt field.

“There’s no one else here. Are you sure we're supposed to be here?” Keith asked, not that he particularly had a problem with trespassing, it just didn’t seem like Shiro’s style.

“That’s because they don’t officially open to the public for two more days. But I happen to know the owner. The guy’s name is Coran. He inherited the orchard from his grandfather. I met him my first year in the fraternity. My frat brothers and I were volunteering here for an inner-city event meant to get underprivileged youth to experience country life. Anyway, I met Coran, and he sort of took a liking to me, invited me to come back any time. So every year I come and pick enough apples to feed a horse.”

Keith still wasn’t sure what that had to do with being here without anyone else. “But why are we here without other people? Admit, this is some ploy to get rid of me?”

“Are you always so suspicious of other people’s motivations?” Shiro asked, opening his door and climbing out of the jeep. Keith followed suit, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked around to the front of it to stand beside Shiro.

“Most people don’t tell the truth. Being suspicious is just...smart.”

Shiro pursed his lips, watching Keith with an almost unnerving intensity. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a promise. I promise to never lie to you.”

“You can’t just promise something like that.”

Shiro cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

“Because everyone lies!” Keith said.

Shiro shook his head. “Not me. I can’t promise I won’t ever do something stupid, or that I won’t ever say something you don’t like. I can’t control the future or read minds. But I can promise you I won’t ever do those things on purpose. I can promise you that I won’t ever willingly hurt or lie to you, Keith. Do you believe me?”

Keith exhaled slowly. Things had gotten very serious very fast, and he suddenly wished they were back in the car eating too many muffins and laughing about Shiro’s bad taste in music.

“I want to believe you,” he said, kicking at a rock.

He thought Shiro might get mad at his own honesty, but to his surprise, Shiro smiled. “So, Keith, are you ready to lose?”

“Lose? I thought we were just picking apples.”

“Just picking apples. Ah, how much you have to learn. Apple picking is a time-honored Autumn tradition. There’s a skill to reaching the apples highest on the tree or to finding the most perfectly ripe ones. How about we make a little wager, huh? And whoever picks the most apples in one hour is the winner.”

Shiro began to walk towards the apple trees and Keith followed, taking two steps for every one of Shiro’s. Fuck, but he had long legs and an even longer stride. It was easy to see how he could have been mistaken for a quarterback. 

“What does the winner get?” Keith asked, watching as Shiro ducked beneath a large tree and returned a few seconds later with a basket for each of them.

“Anything they want.”

“ _Anything?”_

Shiro put his hand on Keith’s lower back and it was impossibly warm despite the chill in the air. “Within reason. The other person has every right to deny the request. It’s just for fun. I wouldn’t ever make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

Somehow, Keith believed him. Keith had found trusting people difficult his entire life, and yet he found himself wanting to trust Shiro.

“What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” Keith asked, flipping the basket in the air and catching it. Shiro looked surprised, but there was a hint of burgeoning excitement in his eyes as he gripped his own basket tighter. If Keith had learned anything from Shiro’s Instagram, it was that whether it was beer pong or a frisbee competition, Shiro really liked to win.

“Well, for starters, I’m taller than you,” he said.

Keith tutted. “Size isn’t everything, Shirogane.” Then without warning Keith took off running to the closest tree, a giant one overflowing with apples at the top. He dropped his basket to the grass and began to climb the tree. One of his foster brothers had taught him how to climb trees when he was nine, had told him it was a good skill to have to escape bullies and angry foster parents. Luckily. Keith had never had need to test that, but he was grateful for the skill now when five minutes later he was able to pop his head out of the topmost branch.

Shiro was standing in the same spot, his mouth hanging wide open. “You never fail to surprise me, Keith.”

Keith’s face flushed with pleasure. It wasn’t praise, not exactly, but it was pretty fucking close.

“Chop, chop if you don’t want to lose,” Keith said. “Here, I’ll even help you out.”

Keith bent to the side, reaching for a perfectly red apple and dropping it towards Shiro. It missed Shiro’s basket and rolled to a stop beside his boots. Shiro looked between the apple and Keith several times before bending down to pick it up. Though to Keith’s surprise instead of keeping the apple for himself, Shiro tossed it to Keith’s abandoned basket where the apple sailed right in.

“Thanks anyway, but if I’m going to get a prize for winning I want to earn it on my own,” Shiro said, saluting Keith before taking off beneath the trees and disappearing into another row just out of Keith’s sight.

Keith had never picked apples or any other kind of produce in his life, but he didn’t think it could be too hard. While he had no idea what he might ask for if he won, on principle alone Keith wanted to be victorious. He’d always had a competitive streak a mile wide, and just because he liked Shiro didn’t mean he still didn't want to beat him.

An hour later, Keith’s back was sore, his jeans had a new hole in the knee, and his basket, which he’d been sure would be overflowing, was only three-quarters full. Apple picking was apparently not as easy as it looked. 

Deciding this was about as good as it was going to get, Keith dropped down to the ground to rest his back against the first tree he’d climbed, his basket of apples sitting beside him. Not five minutes later he saw Shiro in the distance, and Keith groaned because Shiro’s basket was very clearly overflowing. Keith watched him approach, eyes riveted to the way Shiro carried the heavy basket as if it were light as a feather, his clothes still completely clean and not a drop of sweat on his face.

“Hey, how’d you fare?” Shiro asked, dropping his basket to the floor. Several perfect apples rolled out near them, and it was then that Keith noticed every single one of Shiro’s apples looked good enough to be on a magazine cover, perfectly red and ripe with the pretty stem sticking out of the top. Keith had a few nice apples too, but he also had a fair few pathetic-looking ones that were bruised or too green to probably taste good. 

“You definitely won,” Keith said, scooting in front of his basket so Shiro couldn’t examine his own haul of apples too closely.

“Did I?” Shiro said, lips curling up in a smile. Keith wasn’t sure if Shiro was genuinely surprised he won or just that excited to be the victor. Either way, the look of pleasure on his face made Keith hard-pressed to be upset about losing.

“So, what exactly do you want, _Champion_?” Keith asked, and though he was quite sure that Shiro wouldn’t be mad if Keith said no to whatever he might ask for, he felt a spike of nervousness all the same.

“Ah, I did have one idea,” Shiro said, moving to sit cross-legged on the damp grass across from Keith. Keith’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to Shiro’s full lips as he continued to speak. “You can say no, alright, but—could I have a picture?”

Keith blinked in surprise. “A picture?”

Shiro nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It’s just that you don’t post any selfies on your Instagram and I kind of...I just wanted a picture of you.”

“Why?” 

Shiro wrinkled his nose in confusion. “To look at.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if wanting a photo of Keith to look at whenever he wanted were normal. 

Keith’s ears began to ring, and he wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. A photo. Shiro could ask Keith for anything in the world. A kiss, a sexual favor, a secret, and all he wanted was a picture of Keith to look at. Something long buried in Keith surged to life, and before he knew what he was doing, Keith was crawling towards Shiro, the damp earth soaking into his jeans as his knees pressed into the grass.

“Ask me what I would’ve asked for if I had won,” Keith said.

Shiro sucked in a breath, his phone falling off his leg onto the grass as he surged forward. They were so close now that Keith could almost taste the lingering apple cinnamon on Shiro’s tongue when Shiro’s breath ghosted across his face. “What would you have asked for, Keith?”

Keith licked his lips, eyes unblinking. “A kiss.”

Shiro let out a shaky breath as his right hand came around to the back of his neck, twisting the longer strands of hair at the back between his fingers as he pressed hi nose against Keith’s. Up close Keith could see flecks of silver in his warm brown eyes. “You telling me you want a prize too, Keith?”

Keith groaned, Shiro’s voice going straight to his cock. “Yes.”

“Alright then,” Shiro whispered, and he closed that last bit of distance, his lips on Keith’s. Keith was helpless to do anything but practically crawl into Shiro’s lap, his own hands slipping beneath Shiro’s beanie to finally get ahold of his hair. Shiro let out a soft moan at the contact, huffing into the kiss, and the reaction emboldened Keith, who pushed the beanie completely off. Keith broke the kiss to look at Shiro’s hair, grinning as he ruffled it before dragging his fingertips across Shiro’s scalp and delighting in the groan of pleasure Shiro emitted.

“Keith,” he murmured, his one hand still resting gently at Keith’s neck and his other hand somehow already beneath his shirt. The metal of the prosthetic was cold against Keith’s skin, and Keith shivered as Shiro’s fingertip stroked across his stomach. Keith continued to drag his nails across Shiro’s scalp.

“Keith, I think maybe you better stop that unless you want a lot more than a kiss,” Shiro said, voice catching when Keith pulled softly on his hair.

“What if that’s exactly what I want?” Keith told him, unable to keep his hips still, at least not when he could so clearly feel Shiro’s own reaction to him against his ass.

“God, how are you real?” Shiro breathed, resting his forehead to Keith’s. 

Keith closed his eyes, unable to bear the sense of overwhelming intimacy he felt with Shiro looking at him like _that,_ as if Keith were some sort of gift to humanity, or maybe just a gift to Shiro. Keith had never felt as seen as he did with Shiro’s eyes on him, his fingers stroking across the skin just below the neck of Keith’s shirt.

“Can I?” Shiro asked his hand sliding across Keith’s stomach to rest at the button at his jeans. “Can I make you feel you so good, baby?”

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He’d heard those exact words from other guys before, but it had always seemed like more of a cheesy come-on rather than a genuine question. On Shiro’s lips it felt drenched in so much earnest desire to please Keith that it left him breathless. Keith was used to people wanting to take, but Shiro—fuck Shiro wanted to _give_.

“Yes,” Keith said. 

Shiro’s answering smile was nothing short of beautiful, a look of such pleasure you would’ve thought Keith had said he was going to get him off. As if things couldn’t possibly get more surreal, Shiro moved out of their embrace, removing his flannel shirt and laying it out on the grass.

“I don’t need a gentleman. I’m already dirty,” he said, gesturing to his jeans.

Shiro took two steps forward. “Sometimes it’s okay to do things just because we want. Not everything has to be about worst case scenario or survival or need. Sometimes it’s okay to just want things.”

Keith closed his eyes, felt Shiro’s warm fingers cupping the side of his face.

“Do you want this?” Shiro whispered, eyes on Keith’s face as if his answer truly meant something.

“Yes,” Keith breathed. Yes, he wanted this—wanted Shiro. He wanted him more than he thought he’d ever allowed himself want anybody.

Shiro’s responding smile was euphoric as he stole one more chaste kiss before pulling Keith with him towards the ground. The leaves crunched beneath them as Keith lay back on Shiro’s shirt, and goosebumps broke out on his arms as Shiro’s broad palms glided down his stomach.

The ground was cold against his back, but Shiro’s shirt was warm—the scent of Shiro’s cologne and sweat enveloping Keith’s senses as he turned his face into the soft material. After what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds, Shiro’s hands were finally undoing the zipper on his jeans, tugging them down along with his boxers, and Keith lifted his hips to help him.

“This okay?” Shiro asked, his large hands resting lightly on Keith’s thighs.

“It would be more okay if you were doing something,” Keith said, and he was pleased at the laugh it earned.

“Patience, Keith, patience.” Shiro’s hands moved up his legs, beneath the hem of his shirt and stroked across his chest. Keith bit his lip to keep from saying anything, just as desperate for Shiro do more as he was for Shiro to never stop what he was doing. Keith wasn’t used to someone looking at him before sex the way Shiro was, as if they wanted to memorize him. Foreplay had usually included a lot of groping in the dark and getting naked and getting off as fast as possible. Shiro though, fuck, Shiro was taking his time, the pads of his rough fingers circling Keith's nipples as he finally, fucking finally, lowered his head and kissed his way from Keith’s belly button to the top of the dark patch of curls before he moved even lower and licked along the underside of Keith’s cock, and then Keith was _gone_

Shiro was relentless, his hands moving down to Keith’s hips to gently hold him in place as he opened his mouth and took him almost all the way in. Keith blew out a heavy breath as Shiro continued to bob his head and suck, the flat of his tongue gliding along the underside of his cock and pulling responses from Keith as if he’d done it a million times. Keith was no stranger to sex, but he sure as fuck wasn’t used to feeling worshipped, and as his legs tensed, as he fell over the edge with Shiro’s thumb stroking circles on his hip, Keith kept his eyes open and watched the afternoon sunlight stream through the trees. The air was crisp and full of hope, and the sound of leaves fluttering in the wind filled his ears as Shiro pressed sloppy open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Keith’s thigh. 

“Will you do something for me?” Shiro asked, resting his chin on Keith’s hips and turning his big eyes on him. It scared Keith to find how easy it was to answer that question.

“Yeah, of course,” Keith said, rising up onto his elbows. Shiro moved to sit back on his heels as Keith sat up, shifting onto his knees and pulling his pants back up. “Right, better, now the something for you,” Keith said, hands reaching out towards the sizeable bulge in Shiro’s jeans.

To Keith’s surprise, Shiro stopped him, his long fingers wrapping gently around Keith’s wrist and holding his hands in place. “That’s not—I didn’t give you a blow job just so you’d give me one. That wasn’t what i was gonna ask for.”

Keith pulled his hand from Shiro’s grasp and dropped it into his lap. “Oh.”

“I meant what I said. I wanted to make you feel good.”

“So you don’t want me to—” Keith broke off, gesturing towards Shiro’s obvious erection.

Shiro’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I mean yeah, fuck yeah.” He rubbed at his face looking nervous, the first sign of Shiro not being calm and collected Keith had seen yet. It made Keith’s own racing thoughts feel less overwhelming to know he wasn’t the only one floundering here. “Of course I want you to touch me, but it wasn’t some sort of ruse to get you to do it. I’d be okay with just some more kissing if that’s all you wanted too.”

Keith didn’t know what to do with the rush of confusion he felt, so he picked up a leaf and began to pull it apart, watching the bits of it crumble into his lap. He was killing the leaf just like he was going to kill this thing between them. 

Fuck, Keith was going to fuck this up. He knew it. He was no good at relationships.

“So, what did you want then?”

“Keith, will you look at me?” Shiro asked, and Keith found his gaze rising to meet Shiro’s almost immediately. “That’s better,” he said, cupping the side of Keith’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone before he pulled his hand back, the blush across his face deepening. It made the well of fear that Keith was doing something wrong subside. Shiro didn’t look like he was upset about anything, not even a little bit. He was looking at Keith exactly the same way he had before—as if Keith were something worth looking at.

“My fraternity is having its annual Halloween party next Friday night. It’s going to be loud and chaotic and there are going to be a lot of bad costumes and really drunk people and I really, really want you to come. With me. I want you to come with me. As my date.”

Then Shiro did the most surprising thing ever and ducked his head, as if he were nervous. As if the idea of Keith saying no mattered.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t usually do parties.”

Shiro cleared his throat, nodding. “Of course. No, it's okay. We can do something else Saturday maybe or—”

“I didn’t say no,” Keith said, the smile he was trying not to let loose finally breaking free. Shiro’s head shot up, a look of such hope on his face Keith thought he’d gladly withstand a hundred frat parties if it meant Shiro looked at him like that.

“You’ll go? You uh...you have to wear a costume. It’s frat rules. No costume, no admittance.” 

Keith inwardly groaned. The only thing worse than a frat party was one where he had to wear a costume. Although the idea of Shiro dressed up (maybe he’d be wearing that toga again) was pretty alluring. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll come.”

Shiro huffed out a laugh, darting forward to kiss Keith. Keith could tell it was meant to be something soft, but that wasn’t what he wanted, at least not right now. Keith was surprised, but pleased, to find how easily Shiro let him take control and set the tone, his own hands slipping beneath Shiro’s shirt to urge him down. Shiro moved easily, his white hair splayed across the golden leaves scattered across the grass and the sunlight peeking through the trees reflecting off his skin. 

Shiro was beautiful.

“Now,” Keith said, straddling Shiro’s thighs and playing with the top button on Shiro’s jeans, delighting in the delighted sound of anticipation it earned him. “I think it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/) :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we're almost at the last chapter! Thanks for reading along with this story everyone. <3

“Nope, I changed my mind. I’m not going,” Keith said stubbornly, and instead of following his friends to the door like he’d promised he would do after dinner, he plopped into the corner of the couch and tucked his feet beneath him.

“Keith Kogane, get off that couch right now.” Pidge crossed her arms and adopted a serious expression, apparently trying to look authoritarian, except all it did was make her look like one of those really small dogs that thought thought it was much bigger than it was. She wasn’t terrifying at all.

“Make me,” Keith said, and alright, he knew he was being childish and ridiculous and probably more than a bit difficult since they were all trying to help him, but he didn’t care. The idea of willingly going to a Halloween store to buy a costume was more than Keith could bear.

“The party is tomorrow, dude, if you don’t go get something today it’ll be too late!” Lance said, sounding as if this were an actual emergency.

“I can’t make you, but they can,” Pidge said, and to Keith’s horror Lance and Hunk moved away from the door and beside the couch. He didn’t have long to wonder what exactly they thought they could do before each of them took one of Keith’s arms and pulled him up.

“Come on, buddy, this is for your own good.” Hunk tried.

Keith kicked out wildly, knocking all three of them to the floor and knocking the coffee table over. Lance groaned, trying to take Keith, who rolled to the side 

“You are so stubborn, for fuck’s sake,” Lance groaned from where he was pinned beneath Keith, though it didn’t seem to stop him as he struggled to reverse their positions.

Hunk had wisely chosen to scoot himself backward, and rather than engaging in the wrestling match, was watching Lance and Keith struggle for dominance.

“Why are you so stubborn, Keith. Oh my god! You’re a fucking nightmare sometimes.”

“Takes one to know one,” Keith gasped as Lance successful kneed him in the stomach and knocked him to the ground.

“Yeah well...you too!” Lance said breathlessly, struggling to maintain his hold on Keith.

Keith was just about to tell Lance exactly where he could shove his opinion when the doorbell rang, and Lance and Keith both stared wide-eyed as Pidge opened the door and Matt cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys,” Matt said, one eyebrow raised.

“What’cha doing here Matt?” Pidge asked, apparently choosing to ignore the way Matt ruffled her hair playfully as he walked into the apartment and shut the door behind him. Keith was pretty sure if anyone but Matt had done that they would’ve had their balls handed to them on a plate.

“I wanted to bring by the twenty dollars I owed you,” Matt said, pulling the wallet out of his pocket and removing a crisp twenty dollar bill. Pidge, however, took one step backward and lifted one eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Matt’s previous expresion.

“You don’t owe me money. In fact I’m pretty sure I still owe you sixty bucks from Mom and Dad’s anniversary gift last month.”

Matt laughed, shoving the twenty dollars back in his wallet and shrugging. “Was worth a try.”

“Well….what _are_ you doing here?” Pidge queried.

Matt chose that moment to look at Keith, and it was only then that he realized he and Lance were still laying on the floor mid-wrestle, and he made a choking noise in the back of his throat as he scrambled to stand up.

“Shiro was a little worried that _someone_ wasn't going to go buy a costume. He made me promise not to come by just to check. But since I came by with the completely innocent intention of giving Pidge money, I’m not technically breaking my promise.”

“Shiro’s worried I won’t show up?” Keith asked. A twist of guilt worked its way into his chest. He supposed he had changed the subject every time Shiro had asked if Keith was still alright with coming or if he wanted any help picking out a costume. It was just that after their unexpected apple picking date Shiro had given Keith his phone number so they could text instead of talk over Instagram, which somehow felt like an even bigger step than outdoor blow jobs. But for all it had made Keith’s stomach quiver with nerves, it had also been nice to fall asleep talking to Shiro and waking up to messages from him.

Somewhere along the line the questions had morphed from _’What pizza topping best represents your personality?_ to _Tell me something about you no one knows_. 

Keith hadn’t entertained being honorable and saying something sarcastic like the color of his hair or that he liked apples. Instead, he’d found himself telling Shiro about being afraid of the dark as a child when the first foster family he’d had at six refused to use night lights. Maybe it was because it was easier to tell his secrets over the phone knowing he wouldn’t have to actually watch Shiro’s face and see any possible pity, or maybe it was easier just because it was _Shiro_. Either way,the last thing he’d expected was to get back a string of texts from Shiro not full of pity or too many questions, but rather about him being scared of hospitals. Texts to Keith about the bone cancer he’d been diagnosed with at nine, about being told he’d never be like everyone else even if they cured the cancer. Texts about spending more time in the hospital doing chemo than playing on a playground, and about how Shiro had eventually lost his arm at sixteen when his cancer had returned. He told Keith about spending years afraid of it happening again until he’d finally decided the only way to stop being afraid of dying was to stop being afraid of living.

Keith hadn’t once guessed that Shiro’s life might’ve had that kind of trauma. Although Shiro obviously had the prosthetic, there was something so optimistic and happy in his demeanor that Keith was ashamed to admit how much he’d assumed Shiro’s endless positivity and kindness was a result of an otherwise easy life. It had never once occurred to him that perhaps Shiro had his own pain, his own fears, and that the bright way he chose to live his life was a choice he made every single day.

After that conversation something had changed, and Keith had found himself telling Shiro things he’d never told anyone—how much he hated pineapple, how he wanted to have a house of his own with a fenced in yard for a dog, or that sometimes when no one else was around to see he watched Hallmark Christmas movies when he couldn’t sleep—although none of those things compared to two days ago when Keith had offhandedly told Shiro he might possibly have a thing for guys in lace, which had resulted in the hottest sexting of Keith’s life. His face burned just thinking about the things Shiro had said, or the things Keith had said back.

Somehow it didn’t seem so scary to tell Shiro those things, because every time he shared something of himself, Shiro shared a bit of himself too. It didn’t feel like Keith was giving things away, but rather getting something. Shiro told Keith about his addiction to sour gummy bears, that his compulsive need to exercise began from a fear of the doctors telling him he might one day end up in a wheelchair if the cancer spread too far, or that he thought one day he wanted a cat. It should’ve been weird, it should’ve seemed too fast. There were people who had known Keith for years who didn’t know all the things Shiro now knew about him in just over two weeks. Instead it felt more right than anything in Keith’s life ever had.

Which is exactly why he was dragging his feet about getting the Halloween costume. As much as he was looking forward to another date with Shiro, he was also terrified of meeting all of Shiro’s frat brothers—afraid of what might happen if he somehow didn’t fit into Shiro’s life as seamlessly as Shiro was already starting to fit into Keith’s.

“Earth to Keith!” Pidge yelled, right as Lance sent one of the couch cushions sailing towards his head. Keith caught it before it made impact and threw it back at Lance, hitting him square in the face.

“Err, sorry. What?” Keith asked, glancing between Matt, Pidge, and Hunk and studiously ignoring Lance, who flipped him off.

“Matt was just telling us about the Halloween party. Such a shame I have to study and can’t go. I’m dying to see Shiro’s costume,” Pidge said in that superior tone of voice she used when she knew something no one else knew.

“Hey, how come me and Hunk weren’t invited to the party?” Lance burst out.

“What’s Shiro’s Halloween costume going to be?” Keith asked at the exact same time.

“One, you weren’t invited because last time we let you come to a frat party you threw up in my bed and Hunk threw up in the punch bowl,” Matt said with a pointed look at both of them, “and two, Shiro’s costume is a surprise.” Matt whistled, “And I cannot wait for you to see it.”

“What does that mean?” Keith questioned. Shiro had in fact told him on Wednesday that his costume was a surprise, but Keith had thought Shiro was just being Shiro and hadn’t given it too much thought.

Matt looked like the cat that ate the canary, shoving his hands into his stupid basketball shorts and rocking back onto his heels. “Let’s just say Shiro lost a bet and _I_ got to decide what he was going to be for Halloween. And my boy Shirogane doesn’t do anything by halves, so this is going to be good.”

“Good...that’s be...yeah, good.” Keith cleared his throat, hoping none of them could see the blush he felt on his face. He couldn’t imagine what the hell Shiro might be dressing up as, but the possibilities alone filled Keith with enough fodder he wasn’t sure if he wanted to run to the Halloween store to get his own costume or run to the bathroom and wank to the mental images.

“Does this mean we can finally go to the Halloween store now?” Lance said dramatically. “I need a costume as well. I was thinking if I dressed up as a knight in shining armor for class on Halloween then Allura might finally notice me.”

“She’d notice you all right,” Pidge said with a roll of her eyes.

“Right, well my good deed for the month is done. Time for me to head home and spend the next twenty-four hours listening to Shiro wax poetic about _Keith has beautiful eyes_ and Keith is so talented have you seen his drawings he should be in a gallery and _wow Matt, did you know Keith likes my favorite movie?_ as if he hasn’t told me these exact same things every day for the last two weeks.” Matt rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and Keith had the distinct impression that Matt wasn’t as put out as he was pretending to be. “See you later,” he said with a wave, and then he was gone.

“Right, you guys should really stop dawdling around so we can go to the Halloween store before all the good costumes are gone,” Keith said, ignoring the way Lance and Hunk’s mouths fell open. “Hurry up!” 

“You are unbelievable,” Lance grumbled, elbowing Keith in the side before grabbing his jacket off the hook by the door. Hunk didn’t seem at all fazed, pulling on his own sweatshirt. When all three of them finally turned around, Pidge was already standing by the open door and gesturing wildly towards the outside as if trying to get them to walk faster.

“Come on, guys, we don’t have all day,” Pidge said, shaking her wristwatch at them, “and Keith, stop looking like you’re walking to your death. It won’t be that bad.”

Forty-five minutes later—crowded into the nearest Spirit Halloween with what felt like at least half of the moderately sized college town and every screaming child clearly awake past their bedtime, as loud Halloween music blasted over the sound of the animatronic demon scarecrow looming over him ominously—Keith wanted to argue that it was indeed turning out to be that bad.

“This is amazing, you guys have to come look at this!” Hunk yelled.

Pidge set down the oversized Care Bear mask she’d been holding, and Keith sighed heavily before they walked around the aisle to find Hunk and Lance standing in battle position dressed as Power Rangers. 

“Tell me this isn’t the perfect costume,” Lance said, pressing the button on the hand-held morpher and activating the sound effects. He jumped into position, holding the morpher out as he yelled, “Blue Ranger!”

“Yellow Ranger,” Hunk said, grabbing the morpher from Lance and copying his moves.

“The Yellow Ranger was a girl,” Keith said uselessly as several people stopped to stare at them.

“Keith, the past is riddled with gender coding. I’m quite certain we can move past gender labels for colors. Besides, I wanna be the Green Ranger!” Pidge laughed, and to Keith’s horror she popped a plastic mask on her face and began running up and down the aisle yelling “Has anyone seen Rita Repulsa?”

“Don’t look so glum, buddy, you can be the pink ranger if you want.” Hunk said, clapping him on the back. “Oh, or white! Maybe you could get Shiro to be black and could all match.”

“There is no way in hell we’re all wearing matching costumes. Besides, none of you are going to the party, so that doesn’t even make sense.”

Hunk shrugged. “Maybe we could all wear them on Halloween. We could all be a team.”

“Maybe in an alternate universe,” Keith said, pulling his hoodie up over his head and trying to make himself disappear into the wall of scream masks, when he heard Lance—still wearing the power ranger costume—yell from two aisles over, “Hey, Keith, maybe you can be Shiro’s Prince Charming!” while waving around a giant crown.

Things did not improve from there. He followed his friends around the store for what felt like an hour, turning down every single costume they suggested. Despite Pidge’s wishes, he was absolutely not going to be a mad scientist, and no matter what Hunk said, there was no way he was going to go as an oversized cookie. Lance’s suggestions were the worst though, ranging from Robin Hood to an alien Viking prince, whatever the fuck that was.

“This is hopeless. You are absolutely impossible,” Lance said, clearly losing hope. “This store has everything, and you don’t like anything. Honestly, were you this picky as a kid? Did your parents buy you ten costumes every year, something new every time you changed your mind about what to be? Or were you one of those weird kids who always wanted to be something no one knew what it was, and your parents had to make your costume?”

“I never had a costume,” Keith said, voice clipped.

“Whoa, man, what do you mean you never had a costume? Do your parents like, not believe in Halloween?” Hunk asked from the opposite aisle, putting a fireman’s hat on his head and looking at himself in the mirror.

Keith’s jaw tensed as he ran his fingertips across the display of wings in front of him. “My parents died when I was a kid. Well, my dad. My mom took off when I was a baby, and my dad did his best to try to take care of us but...he died in a car accident. I didn’t have any other family, so I went into foster care. A few times my foster parents promised I could go trick or treating, but something always happened. Foster kids tend to have a lot of emergencies and going door to door for candy isn't exactly a priority, you know.”

“Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would never had said that stuff,” Lance said.

Keith shrugged, continuing to walk down the aisle. He didn’t need to look to know his friends were trailing after him. He didn’t know why he was telling them this; or maybe he did—he was tired of keeping people at arm’s length. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided a crowded Halloween store at nine at night two days before Halloween was a good idea to suddenly decide to bare his soul.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hunk asked, and Keith finally turned around. He expected to see pity, and though he couldn’t quite identify the looks on their faces, he knew it wasn’t that.

“I didn’t want you to treat me differently.”

Then to Keith’s surprise Pidge lunged forward, throwing her arms around him in an unexpected hug. Before Keith could formulate a response, Hunk had come around the end of the aisle and moved into theirs, enveloping Keith and Pidge in a giant bear hug. 

“Well, it looks like we’re doing this,” Lance said, before he too was throwing his arms around them all. 

“Man, I love us,” Hunk said, resting his chin atop Pidge’s head and smiling broadly.

Keith snorted, but he didn’t try to pull out of the embrace. “You guys are so weird.” 

“Yeah, but so are you, so I guess we can all be weird together,” Pidge said, sounding far too happy considering she was being smashed between them all.

“Okay, I really think this is enough bonding. Can we please go home now,” Keith said, extracting himself from the embrace. Pidge cleared her throat and busied herself with looking at a row of hideously grotesque masks, wiping at her eyes, and Keith had the distinct impression she was crying. 

“You can’t leave yet though, you don’t have a costume. There’s no way any of us are letting you out of here tonight without a Halloween costume,” Lance declared, clapping Keith on the back.

Something behind Lance caught Keith’s eyes and he grinned, learning around Lance to grab a cardboard package off the shelf, dangling it in front of Lance’s face.

“See, costume.”

Lance gaped while Hunk and Pidge laughed.

“That’s not a costume, those are only ears.” He looked genuinely put out, and Keith couldn’t help snickering.

“Look, I’ve already got black pants and a black shirt. All I need to do is draw on some whiskers, pop on these ears, and bam— _cat_. Instant costume.”

Keith thought back to Shiro’s texts the night prior and his apparent fondness for felines. He had no idea if that extended to Keith as a cat, but it seemed like a good enough bet, and if Keith had to look at one more Halloween costume he thought he might actually die.

Walking towards the register and ignoring Lance’s and Pidge’s insistence that it wasn’t elaborate enough, he couldn’t help but wonder wonder if Shiro would like it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, can't believe this is the last chapter! This chapter is for [Dogskun](http://dogskun.tumblr.com/) who was so unbelievably nice about letting me write something based on their art. This entire fic was actually written around Shiro in a very special costume which they drew. 
> 
> (Click here to [see the art](https://66.media.tumblr.com/965d9fd99ccf8f46fa7f11d1f97b08f1/tumblr_pferqwMaxC1rnjwa5o3_1280.png), or wait to see it linked in the fic below).
> 
> Thank you everyone who has been following along. <3

Keith stood on the sidewalk, staring up at Shiro’s frat house with increasing apprehension. The entire pathway was lined with carved pumpkins that would’ve looked idyllic if they were actually jack-o-lanterns. Instead, they were carved with the fraternity’s Greek letters, more than one rude gesture, and one that Keith was about ninety percent certain was a dick. 

Shaking his head in bemusement, Keith finally got his feet to move and walked towards the house, ignoring the guy on the front lawn dressed like a banana and pissing into a pumpkin and the guy and girl pressed up against the front window trying to suck each other’s faces off while wearing nothing but some leaves duct taped to their underwear.

He knocked on the door several times, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for someone to answer. Even from the porch he could hear the thumping music from inside and the chatter of what had to be a very full house. As the minutes ticked by, Keith began to doubt himself. He had no idea what the etiquette for this kind of party was. Was he supposed to barge inside and go looking for Shiro? Was he supposed to wait to be let in? After five minutes Keith had almost given up hope when the door was yanked open, and he was met with a bright-eyed Matt dressed as an astronaut—a red Solo cup in one hand, his cheeks flushed, and a smile on his face.

“Keith, you came!” Matt said, louder than was necessary, his words slightly slurred.

“I said I would,” Keith answered.

Matt nodded, leaning forward and throwing his free arm around Keith’s shoulder and urging him into the house. He shut the door behind them and then leaned in to whisper into Keith’s ears, though his voice came out at a lot more of a yell, “Good, you’re a good man, Kogane. Shiro deserves someone who means what he says. Shiro deserves a lot. You’re not gonna hurt him are you? Because if you are, I might have to kill you, and I don’t wanna kill you. Then Shiro would be sad, and I don’t want him to be sad.”

“Are you drunk?” Keith asked, head swimming. The last thing he’d expected was _this_.

“Just a little bit. Don’t tell anyone, but I started drinking when I started decorating.”

Keith snorted. “What time did you start decorating?” 

“After lunch.” Matt grinned, stumbling slightly as he walked Keith through the crowded living room and past handfuls of people making out and another group playing what looked like strip poker. 

Keith let Matt lead him since he had no idea where to go on his own, his eyes darting around the house as they went. 

“Are those condoms?” Keith asked when they made their way into the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at a string of what should have balloons hanging above the sink. Each “balloon” was decorated with a face hand-drawn in black Sharpie. 

Matt stopped walking and turned his attention to Keith’s line of sight. “Yup. Couldn’t find any balloons. I drew the faces on them myself, you like?”

“Very artistic,” Keith lied, and Matt laughed.

“God, you’re as bad of a liar as Shiro.”

“Fine, they’re fucking dire, and you should never be allowed to decorate again,” Keith said, lips twitching up in the corner when Matt snorted.

“No wonder Shiro likes you so much,” Matt said, taking a long drink out of his cup. 

Keith took the opportunity to move two steps away, face flushing at Matt’s off-hand words. Hw couldn’t help but wonder just how much Shiro had talked about him. Yesterday he’d thought for sure Matt was teasing about Shiro talking about him, but now he wasn’t so sure. Matt didn’t seem like he was lying or joking.

“Do you want something to drink?” Matt asked. “We’ve got water, soda…and a very strong punch that you are definitely not old enough to consume and would be both illegal and irresponsible of me to offer you, but that is sitting on the kitchen table should you decide to help yourself to it when I go to take a piss in exactly two minutes.”

“Soda is good,” Keith said. He had no problem with the legalities of underage drinking on principle, he just didn’t like the loss of inhibition and control he felt the few times he had gotten drunk in the past. He felt those things enough as it was when he was around Shiro. The last thing he needed was alcohol to loosen his tongue and have him saying something he wasn’t ready to say yet—things like _I feel like a part of me has known you forever,_ or do you think in another universe we’d have found each other too, or _I know we’ve only been talking two weeks, but I like you more than I’ve ever liked another person_. If Keith were going to eventually say those things to Shiro, he wanted it to be choice, not a slip of the tongue.

“Coke or Mountain Dew?” Matt asked, already walking backward towards the fridge.

Keith shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Gotcha,” Matt said, turning around and falling into the fridge before taking a step back and yanking it open. From Keith’s vantage point he could see the entire fridge was full of nothing but soda, beer, and protein shakes. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was always like that.

“Heads up,” Matt yelled, tossing a can of Coke at him. Keith wasn’t particularly thirsty, but he popped it open anyway, shaking off the bits that bubbled over onto his hands and took a big chug so he’d have something to do.

Matt walked back towards Keith, lifting his cup up for a drink and frowning when he realized it was empty. With a shrug he threw it across the kitchen where it landed in the sink along with a pile of dirty dishes and an empty bottle of vodka. “So, Keith, about your intentions towards Shiro,” Matt said as he leaned against Keith’s shoulder. He smelled like he’d taken a bath in the punch, his breath so heavy with alcohol Keith could almost taste it. “Shiro doesn’t—” but whatever it was Matt was about to say was cut off by the sound of someone banging on the doorbell. “Shit, I’m on door duty.”

Matt stood up, cleaning his throat, pushing the hair off his forehead and giving Keith an intense look. “Shiro’s in the back, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble spotting what costume he’s wearing. Be careful not to get stung,” and then Matt was stumbling towards the door, grabbing a drink from someone else’s hand as he went.

Keith took another sip of his Coke before deciding that he really wasn’t thirsty at all, and deposited the half-full can on the edge of the kitchen table. He wound his way through the crowd of people who were trying to refill their cups of punch.

“Excuse me,” Keith yelled, arms in the air as he slid his way sideways through a group of guys arguing over whether whey protein or plant-based protein was a better source to re-fuel a workout. They didn’t seem to hear him, or if they did they were purposely ignoring him, so he dropped to his knees and crawled between their legs, popping up on the other side.

With one quick adjustment to his cat ears he took a deep breath and walked through the open back door that led to the yard. Keith took a moment to glance around at the yard, which was scattered with more glowing, slightly pornographically carved pumpkins, strings of Christmas lights hung up haphazardly across the pergola, and two separate games of beer pong going on atop plastic folding tables on the grass. He had all of two seconds to wonder how he was going to spot Shiro in the throngs of people, when he heard the familiar smooth timbre of Shiro’s voice on the far side of the yard.

Ignoring the prickle of excitement and anxiety, he weaved through the crowd, making his way to the farthest corner where a group of Shiro’s frat brothers had a fire going in a makeshift firepit out of what looked like the inside ring of a washing machine.

“Keith!” Shiro yelled, his entire face lighting up in a smile when he saw him. 

Keith couldn’t keep his eyes on Shiro’s face when Shiro was wearing [that](https://66.media.tumblr.com/965d9fd99ccf8f46fa7f11d1f97b08f1/tumblr_pferqwMaxC1rnjwa5o3_1280.png).

Shiro. Shiro was wearing a bee costume. But not just any bee costume, not one of those stupid hooded onesies or an oversized one that looked like a mascot. No, Shiro was wearing what Keith could only describe as a woman’s bee costume. And not just a woman’s one, but a _sexy_ one at that. He could practically hear Pidge lecturing him about gendering clothing, but there was no other way for Keith to think about the small bits of the costume currently adorning Shiro’s unfairly fit body.

It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked away, leaving Keith struggling to remember how to breathe as he took in the tiny bobbling antenna on the fuzzy black headband Shiro was wearing—his white hair perfectly styled and flipping off to one side in a way that made Keith desperate to pull it—or the thick string of black velvet with a daisy on it that was tied around Shiro’s neck, and the bralette with cutouts on the chest that instead of looking ridiculous on Shiro’s broad, muscled chest, made Keith want to shove Shiro back against the fence and drag his nails along the skin peeking through the cutout. It made him want to push it aside so the opening was big enough for Keith to get the flat of his tongue on Shiro’s nipples. Even the fragile-looking glittering wings on his back didn't seem out of place, not with the way Shiro stood there completely devoid of self-consciousness or embarrassment, grinning at Keith as if even on Halloween that costume wasn’t wholly unexpected.

As if that weren’t distracting enough, Shiro’s entire stomach was bare, giving sight to the ripples of muscle that made his body appear too perfect to be real, and sitting low on his hips was an obscenely short black pleated skirt. Off to one side, near his right hip bone, there was a delicate little daisy on the yellow waistband, and Keith’s cock twitched at the idea of something so inherently feminine and delicate on Shiro’s strong body. Keith had never once thought he had a thing for men in flowers, or skirts, but the sight of Shiro in both had Keith feeling nearly dizzy with his own arousal. He was pretty sure at this point nothing about Shiro would surprise him.

“You alright?” Shiro asked, moving around the edge of the bonfire to stand beside Keith. His smile was easy, eyes tinged with concern as he lay his hand at the small of Keith’s back. Keith however, was having a hard time focusing on Shiro’s words when all he wanted to do was look at Shiro’s thick thighs encased in black- and yellow-striped thigh highs. It should’ve looked out of place, his large bare feet inside dainty stockings, but somehow it wasn’t.

In every single way, Shiro was unexpected: humble when by all assumptions he should be cocky, kind when he could be selfish, and apparently not afraid to be feminine when everything about him screamed masculinity. There was something about Shiro, about the almost painfully honest way he seemed to live his life, that made Keith ache with want.

“You’re a bee,” Keith said, embarrassed at the unnaturally high pitch of his voice.

“Ah, that I am,” Shiro laughed, rubbing the side of his face with his right hand. “I know it’s a bit much, but a bet is a bet and I lost. You don’t uh...you don’t hate it do you?” For the first time a hint of insecurity flickered across Shiro’s face. It hit Keith then how much his own opinion must matter to Shiro, how much Shiro apparently wanted to please him too. It was nice to see the blush on his face, to see such tangible proof that he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous in all of this.

“I don’t think I could hate a single thing about you,” Keith said, and the blush on Shiro’s cheeks blossomed, spreading across the bridge of his nose as he smiled.

“That’s good. I feel the same way about you.” He took one step forward, reaching out to finger the fuzzy ears on top of Keith’s head. “I really like your costume.”

“I’m a cat,” Keith supplied, then immediately wanted to kick himself for saying something so obvious.

Shiro however laughed softly, his hand dropping down so that the rough pad of his thumb could stroke across the whiskers Keith had drawn on his face with one of his charcoal pencils.

“Mmm, that you are,” he said, leaning forward until his mouth was just inches from Keith’s. The smell of alcohol was detectable on his breath, though just barely. “ _Kitten_.”

Keith’s stomach flipped, an embarrassing sound coming from his mouth as he surged forward, throwing his arms around Shiro’s neck and moving onto his tiptoes to kiss him. Shiro responded eagerly, apparently not at all concerned about anyone watching them as his hands roamed across Keith’s back and down until he had Keith’s ass cupped in his hands, almost lifting him higher into the kiss.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Shiro breathed when Keith pulled back to catch his breath.

“You wanna give me a tour?” Keith asked, bottom lip pulled between his teeth to keep from laughing at the look of confusion that appeared on Shiro’s face.

“You want a tour? Right now?”

Keith nodded, willing himself to keep a straight face. “Yeah, I’ve never been to a frat house. There are a few things I’d like to see.”

Shiro removed his hands from Keith’s ass, though he didn’t stop touching him, instead rubbing them up and down his back. “That so, and what exactly were you hoping to see?”

Keith licked his lips, his heart beating so hard he wondered if Shiro could hear it. “Your room.”

Shiro’s reaction was breathtaking, the rush of affection on his face almost tangible, and it made Keith’s head spin as Shiro leaned down to kiss him again. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

After they broke apart Keith wasn’t entirely sure how the hell they made it from the edge of the backyard, into the house, through the kitchen and hallway, and up the stairs. He’d been vaguely aware of the people parting like the Red Sea for them, and he didn’t know if that was because of Shiro or if maybe the fact that they were basically pawing at each other with no regards for propriety or public decency made people want them to leave as much as they wanted to.

“This,” Shiro gasped, breaking the kiss long enough to open the first door, “is my room.”

Keith pulled out of the kiss, eyes darting around the impeccably neat space. There were several space posters above the desk, a photo of Shiro with two old people who Keith knew to be his grandparents on the bookshelf, and the bed was perfectly made. “Expecting company?” Keith asked with a raised eyebrow.

Shiro ducked his head again, and Keith felt his own affection swell. Confident, never-bashful Shiro was apparently shy when it came to sex. 

“I mean...I was hoping. But also my room always looks like this.”

“My room looks like a bomb went off,” Keith offered, taking Shiro’s distraction as an opportunity to drop his mouth to Shiro’s neck and suck at the pale skin just above the choker as he pushed the wings off. They fluttered to the floor as Shiro groaned.

“God,” Shiro sighed, when Keith dipped his tongue beneath the choker. The flimsy material popped off immediately, and Keith took that as his cue to suck on the previously decorated skin hard. “Fuck.”

Keith withdrew his mouth, pausing long enough to say, “Fucking, yes. Definitely we should fuck.”

Shiro exhaled, his hands fisted in the front of Keith’s shirt. “You have good ideas.”

Keith hid his smile against Shiro’s neck as he fumbled with the bralette, finally getting the stupid clasp undone. Shiro shrugged his shoulders, and Keith grudgingly took one step back so that it could fall to the floor.

“I think it’s your turn to lose some clothing,” Shiro said, moving his hands to the bottom of Keith’s t-shirt and pulling. Keith lifted his arms above his head to help. The ears were knocked to the floor in the process, and Shiro frowned. “Pity, maybe next time you can keep them on, and you’ll let me call you kitten.”

Keith wasn’t sure if Shiro was serious or just teasing, but his cock twitched either way. Fuck, he was pretty sure Shiro could talk to him about algebra, and Keith would be fucking on board. Anything involving Shiro seemed like it could become a turn on. Maybe Keith had a kink for anything involving Shiro.

“Oh,” Shiro said, the flush that had started to fade resuming. “You like that?”

Keith huffed, unable to find it in himself to be embarrassed. Instead he shrugged. “I like it if it involves you,” he said, wondering if maybe that was too forward—too honest.

Shiro’s face softened, and he moved his hand to the back of Keith’s head, deftly removing the rubber band holding up his small ponytail before digging his fingers into Keith’s hair and pulling him in for a kiss so gentle Keith felt as if Shiro were taking him apart.

Seconds or minutes later—Keith had no fucking idea—Shiro pulled out of the kiss and moved his hands to his own skirt, clearly intending to remove it. Keith shook his head, hands on Shiro’s hips. “Can I?”

Shiro nodded, and Keith let his fingertips ghost along the waistband until he found the zipper in the back, pulling it down slowly. The music from downstairs was thumping through the floorboards, and Keith’s breathing was heavy to his own ears, but nothing was louder than the slow drag of the zipper as he worked it down. Shiro barely moved, barely breathed, staring at Keith as Keith bent down to help Shiro step out of it, leaving Shiro standing in nothing but the thigh highs and a pair of snug-fitting black boxer briefs.

Keith stayed on his knees, kneeling before Shiro as he ran his hands across the fabric. It was silky smooth beneath his palms, the ripple of muscle in Shiro’s thighs prominent through the thin material. Keith hooked his finger in the tight ring of elastic on Shiro’s right thigh and worked it down slowly, his knuckles dragging over the thigh and down the back of Shiro’s knee and his calf before Shiro lifted his foot and Keith pulled it completely off. 

Keith had never considered himself a patient person, but as he moved his hands to the other side, rolling the material down, he thought he could be patient now. Something inside of him wanted this to last forever, wanted to drag it out as long as possible so that no matter what happened, Keith would never forget it. After removing the second one, Keith stood back up, eyeing the bulge in Shiro’s boxers.

“You’re a bit overdressed still,” Shiro said. “May I?”

He moved his hands to the button on Keith’s jeans, and Keith nodded silently, tongue too heavy in his mouth to form any actual words. Echoing Keith’s movements, Shiro kneeled before him, undoing the button and zipper before helping Keith out of the rest of his clothing.

Keith expected to be self-conscious standing in the middle of Shiro’s brightly lit room completely naked and hard, his body as exposed as his heart, especially since Shiro was somehow still wearing his boxers. But he wasn’t. In fact, none of the usual insecurity or fear about what awkwardness or expectations might come _later_ could diminish the rush of euphoria he felt from the way Shiro was looking at him. 

Keith was no stranger to people wanting his body, but never in his life had someone looked at him the way Shiro was—as if he wanted to protect him as much as he wanted to wreck him.

“You alright?” Shiro asked, ever the gentleman. 

Keith could not help but grin. “I’d be even better if you were naked too.”

Shiro swallowed, hesitating for only a moment before he inhaled a deep breath as if gathering his courage, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the black boxers and very slowly peeling them off his body. Except when he was done, he wasn’t naked. Instead he was wearing a very sheer pair of black lace panties, his hard cock and the top of his treasure trail peeking out of the top.

Panties. Shiro was wearing tight black lace panties. _For him_.

“I know it’s—maybe it's too much. Or maybe you weren’t serious. Just you said—”

But Keith interrupted him, slamming his lips to Shiro’s, his hands fisting in his hair as he devoured Shiro’s mouth—lips and teeth colliding with frenzied moans. “I said a man who would wear panties for me was a man I’d never let go,” he huffed into Shiro’s mouth, unable to stop kissing him.

Keith wanted to stand there and look at Shiro in the panties, to appreciate the flat expanse of his abdomen against the black lace, and the way the muscles in his upper thighs were accentuated by the high cut. Except the sensation of them moving against his skin was just as erotic. Shiro rutted up against his hip as they kissed, Shiro’s cock warm and firm beneath the smooth lace. Keith’s brain spun as he struggled to remember how to breathe. It wasn’t just the lace, though fuck knew that was one of the hottest things Keith had ever seen, and that mental image was going to fuel his every wet dream for the rest of his life.

“I need more,” Keith groaned, pulling Shiro’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucking hard. He was rewarded with a groan as Shiro bucked against him.

“Anything,” Shiro said, voice cracking as Keith slid his hands beneath the taut lace to cup Shiro’s full ass.

Keith let Shiro’s lip fall from his mouth, delighting in the way it looked kiss-swollen as he pulled his head back to look at Shiro’s face. “Can I fuck you? Or you can fuck me? God, I don’t care, I just want you.”

Shiro paused and for one horrifying moment Keith thought he’d done something wrong, but then Shiro was on him again, his nose pressed into Keith’s cheek as he pressed an open mouth kiss to the side of Keith’s lips and walked him back towards the bed. “The first one, god, the first one.”

“Yeah?” Keith groaned as the back of his knees hit the bed and they tumbled onto the cool sheets together, his heart beating so hard he thought it was surely going to explode straight out of his chest.

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro said, leaning over him to reach for the bedside drawer. Seconds later he had a condom and a tube of lubricant in his hand that he dropped onto the bed beside them before bracing his hands on either side of Keith’s head and slowly rocking their hips together. “Do you want me to do it or—” he paused, the pink flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Next time I wanna watch you get yourself ready for me, watch you open yourself up for my cock. Or maybe I’ll let you watch me do it, let you fuck me so good. Bet you’d fuck me so good wouldn’t you?” Shiro bit his lip and nodded, still rubbing his lace-covered cock against Keith’s, the precome now staining the front of the panties. “But that’s not today. Today I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” Shiro groaned, letting his head fall down between his shoulders as his hips stopped moving.

Keith nudged at Shiro’s legs, and Shiro got the hint, sliding one arm under Keith’s back and in one swift movement flipping them completely over so that Keith had Shiro pinned down to the mattress. Keith couldn’t help but grin as he shimmied down the bed, grazing his nails down the beads of perspiration building on Shiro’s stomach before sliding them beneath the wettest part of the panties and pulling them down. Shiro lifted his hips obligingly, and Keith watched with rapt attention as Shiro’s cock bobbed against his stomach and he spread his legs wide the second he was completely naked.

Keith inhaled slowly, reaching for the lubricant and coating his fingers generously before pushing Shiro’s legs up. Wordlessly, Shiro put his hands on the back of his thighs and pulled his legs to his chest spreading himself open for Keith, who kneeled there for several long seconds before finally dragging the tip of his finger around the furrowed skin of Shiro’s entrance. 

“ _Baby_ ,” Shiro groaned breathlessly.

Keith pressed a kiss to the top of Shiro’s hip before he rested his forehead against Shiro’s thigh, watching the slide of the first finger as it slipped inside, twisting it in and out several times before adding another. He continued like that for fuck knew how long, mesmerized by the sight of his finger slipping inside Shiro, by the quiet sounds of desperation Shiro was already making. Fuck, Keith wanted to fuck him so badly it almost hurt, and he wanted to put it off as long as possible so it wouldn’t end. 

Once his fingers began to move without resistance, he added a third, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him at the renewed tension. Shiro inhaled sharply but before Keith could ask it it was okay, Shiro was begging for more.

“Are you sure?” Keith asked, rubbing his forehead against Shiro’s thigh to brush away the sweat-soaked fringe falling into his forehead. He pushed his fingers in once more, crooking them up to rub against Shiro’s prostate, and Shiro’s mouth fell open in an almost silent gasp.

“Yes, god, yes.”

Keith didn't need to be told twice, removing his fingers from Shiro’s body and reaching for the condom, ripping the foil packet open and rolling it down the length of his cock. He grabbed the lube next, squirting a generous amount in his hand and smoothing it over the condom before scooting back into position, resting on his knees and urging Shiro’s legs over his shoulders.

Once the heels of Shiro’s feet were digging into Keith’s back he began to move, grabbing ahold of Shiro’s hips and pressing inside of him in one fluid movement.

“Fuck.” Keith said, unable to take his eyes off the play of emotions on Shiro’s face. Usually Keith liked to fuck in the dark, or avoid eye contact. It was easier that way so the other person knew he didn’t want their number, and he didn’t want to see them again. For the first time, Keith found himself unable to take his eyes off Shiro’s, unable to do anything except watch Shiro’s blissed-out expression as Keith pulled out and slammed back in.

“God, baby, knew you’d be like this,” Shiro said, reaching out to link his fingers with Keith’s who propelled himself folding, practically bending Shiro in half as he increased the speed of his thrusts and pressed Shiro’s hands back above his head.

“Like...what?” Keith managed to ask, proud of himself for stringing two words together.

“Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Keith closed his eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath as Shiro squeezed his hands once. Fuck. This was everything he never thought he wanted. It felt scary and important and like there were a whole lot of fucking strings attached, and instead of wanting to cut those strings, Keith wanted to tie them in knots and never let Shiro go.

“Shiro,” Keith whispered, opening his eyes once more. “I’m so close.”

Shiro lifted his neck, pressing an uncoordinated kiss to the side of Keith’s chin. “Come on baby, come for me.”

And that was it, those six little words and Keith was shuddering, clenching Shiro’s fingers so tightly he thought he might break them as his thrusts became shaky and uneven before he collapsed atop Shiro in a boneless heap. Keith momentarily contemplated never moving again, more than content to stay skin to skin with Shiro forever—especially with the soothing circles he was rubbing on Keith’s lower back—until he realized Shiro’s very hard cock was pressing into his stomach. 

Too boneless to give Shiro the blowjob or handjob he wanted to, Keith rolled off Shiro and onto his stomach, clenching his legs together and pulling his knees up so his arse and thighs were on display. “Come on Shiro,” he said, turning his head to the side, resting his cheek on his folded arm, and watching Shiro, who was still panting beside him, unmoving. “Fuck my thighs. Make yourself slick and messy and slide inside.”

Shiro made an indistinguishable noise, something deep and guttural, before rolling over onto his knees and grabbing the lube. “You’ve got a filthy mouth, baby.”

“That’s not all that could be filthy if you play your cards right,” Keith said, positive if he hadn’t just come hard enough to make his ears ring the sight of Shiro slicking up his thick cock would’ve had him coming on sight alone. Shiro didn’t hesitate, hands wrapping around Keith’s hips and rucking his hips up higher as he plunged his cock into the tight heat between Keith’s tensed thighs.

The moan that Shiro let out was purely primal, his fingers gripping almost hard enough to bruise as he pulled out and slammed back in, the sound of his skin slapping against Keith’s, and the positively indecent sound of his lube-slick cock sliding in and out of Keith’s thighs dulling out every other sound Keith. Shiro’s movements were powerful and controlled, even through his obvious haze of lust, and Keith could only imagine what it would be like to let Shiro bend him in half next time.

Shiro let out another moan, louder than any of the previous ones as his hips stilled and Keith could feel his ass and back coated in Shiro’s warm release. Then unexpectedly Shiro collapsed on his back, smashing him into the mattress.

“Oof,” Keith laughed. “You’re heavy.”

Shiro made another incoherent noise, nuzzling his face into Keith’s shoulder, his breath hot and heavy.

“You gonna stay there all night?” Keith asked, though he didn’t mind. Alright, he minded being sticky, that was kind of gross, but he liked being naked and warm, and he couldn’t deny it felt good to be buried beneath Shiro’s substantial girth.

“Might,” Shiro grumbled.

“If you move we could take a shower. Together.”

Shiro pressed another kiss to the sharp curve of Keith’s shoulder blade before rolling off onto his side with a disappointed noise. Shiro blinked twice before his eyes landed on Keith and he grinned. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Keith echoed.

“You okay?” Shiro asked.

Keith didn’t answer. Was he okay? Fuck, he didn’t even know. He was spent, emotionally and physically, in the most satisfying way possible. 

He knew he didn’t love Shiro, not yet. He wasn’t sure anyone could fall in love in just two weeks. But then Shiro smiled at him sweetly, reaching out to brush the hair from Keith’s forehead and press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. It was disgustingly sappy and soft and painfully domestic, and fuck, did Keith like it. Shiro’s hair stuck up in a million places, his face was sweaty and flushed red, and Keith thought _I did that, he’s wrecked because of me,_ and he realized didn’t feel remotely alright.

Because Keith knew one thing for sure. He didn’t love Shiro, but he sure as fuck thought he could.

“After we shower I want to do something,” Keith said, purposely ignoring Shiro’s previous question.

Shiro’s lips quirked up in the corner as the fingers of his left hand trailed up and down Keith’s spine. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“A picture. I want to take a picture. Of you.”

Shiro’s hand stilled, eyes unblinking. “Yeah? What for?”

“To look at,” Keith said, earning himself a playful pinch on the ass.

“Smart ass.”

Keith laughed. “But I’m your smart ass.”

Shiro’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Make you a deal, you can have your picture on one condition.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Keith asked.

“That we take it together.”

 _Together_ , Keith thought. 

“Yeah, I think we can manage that,” he answered, kissing Shiro.

For once, together sounded pretty fucking good.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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